Perfection
by Marston Chicklet
Summary: A woman fights to save her crumbling marriage, leaving her daughter to become caught up in the crossfire where she discovers that love comes from unlikely places. Meanwhile, another must reconsider everything that she has believed to be true. AU after HBP
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: Don't own Harry Potter, any characters/ places/ etc. associated with him or the lyrics to any songs used in this story. (I tried to stop using songs, but I'm so influenced by music that it was useless…) The plot is mine, capiche?

A/N: This is a repost of the story that originally was posted on this siteand was removed without reason. Have gotten over my period of bitterness, so, here's the repost with changes (improvements, I hope!) and a lot of blood, sweat and tears. As always, any feedback is welcome.

Perfection

Prologue

A girl sits at the kitchen table, morning light streaming in the window. She is asking her mother, who has placed half of a grapefruit in front of her for breakfast why they can't buy flavored cereal instead of cornflakes. She is about five years old, still untouched—innocent.

"Darling, you know that I've told you a million times that sugar is bad for your teeth." She is sounding annoyed—it is the tone of constant repetition. "Besides, some of your friends aren't particularly healthy. You wouldn't want to end up like them, would you?"

She doesn't specify what is wrong with them, but the emphasis is on the right words. She doesn't need to.

The girl shakes her head, brown eyes wide, fear showing in them. She has heard this more than once, often enough that the fear is already implanted in her. Carefully, she raises a slice of the fruit to her lips, eyeing it as if it might hurt her in some way.

Her eyes fade into another pair. It is the same girl, but more than ten years have passed. Judging by her height and the make-up she is wearing, she is about sixteen years old. She is waiting in a car, the remodeled Triumph that her father only takes out during the summer, examining herself in the rearview mirror. Her cheekbones are more than prominent and the hands she touches them with are thin and breakable, ice cold to the touch.

The make-up is a new acquisition. Before this summer, she had rarely worn it. But now, it is her shield. It hides what she truly is, so that even she can forget, if she tries. But underneath it, she knows that her eyes have dark circles under them from staying up late into the night doing homework that doesn't really need to be done, that her hip bones jut out and that her ribs can be counted without running her hands along them. She wants to believe that if she can disappear, everything wrong in her life can be forgotten.

Her eyes follow a large woman who is ambling out of the drugstore across the street, and she shudders slightly. Whatever happens to her, she doesn't want to end up like _them, _with their existence in such plain view of everyone, the judging eyes that follow them down the street, the knowledge that they are flawedShe couldn't stand it.

Suppressing a second tremble of revulsion and wanting to block out her thoughts, she cranks up the radio full blast, ignoring glares from people passing by, people who only hear the music, not the sixteen-year-old girl in the front seat who, although she doesn't know it yet, is screaming for someone to hear her.

Her mother strides across the street, intimidating in her steely gray suit and pumps, flicking hair the same shade as her daughter's, but much sleeker, over her shoulder and unlocks the car.

Irritated, she sighs, shoving her leather purse into her daughter's lap and snaps, "What have I told you about playing music too loudly?" as she flicks off the radio.

The girl shrugs. She didn't really like the song anyway.


	2. 1 Meetings

_I'll live through you_

_I'll make you what I never was_

_If you're the best then maybe so am I_

_Compared to him compared to her_

_I'm doing this for your own damn good_

_You'll make up for what I blew_

_What's the problem… why are you crying?_

_Be a good boy_

_Push a little farther now_

_That wasn't fast enough_

_To make us happy_

_We will love you just the way you are when you're perfect_

_Perfect_, Alanis Morissette

Perfection

Chapter 1: Meetings

She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, running her hands over her rib cage. She was still in pajamas—over-sized sweats and a tank top—and in the one corner of her room that was visible in the reflection her clothes were folded neatly in a trunk. Beside it sat another, still open, and crammed to the brim with books.

"Hermione!" The shrill voice of her mother echoed up the stairs. "You leave in two hours and I need to stop off at the office, so finish packing!"

She chose to ignore this, knowing that they would get there one way or another, and reluctantly pulled on a pair of jeans that had once fit her but now hung off of her hips, tent-like, thinking vaguely that they must have stretched in the wash.

* * *

"Ginny!"

The redhead spun around, grinning. "Dean!"

She gave him a quick hug as he brushed his lips against her cheek. "Missed you," he said.

"I could tell," she replied wryly, thinking back to the fat bundle of letters stashed in her sock drawer. She let him take her luggage and climbed onto the train.

"Do you think there's any nice, empty compartments left?" she wondered allowed, winking over her shoulder as he boarded behind her.

He laughed lightheartedly. "If not, there will be soon."

* * *

"Have a nice term, darling, and work hard. Your marks weren't quite as high this year as they usually are. Try not to eat as many sweets as I know you do—especially not what you get from that store—and don't forget to enjoy yourself."

"Yes, mum."

"And don't wear so much make-up, it isn't good for your skin. You never used to."

Hermione shrugged off the stinging that she felt from the criticisms and glanced at her watch. "I'd better go. Boarding starts in a couple of minutes. Say good-bye to Dad for me."

She couldn't help but feel a pang at the thought of him. This summer he had been absent almost every day, rarely attending meals, and closed off when he did. He said that he was working; made a weak joke about abnormally high cavity rates and a comment about promotions, but she had sensed something else behind the words. How much of a promotion could you get in dentistry, anyway?

Her mother's face tightened at the mention of him as well, but Hermione told herself that she was imagining it, holding her cheek out for the brisk kiss that she knew was coming. Watching the woman click away without looking back, she was left with the impression that the show of affection had been just that—a show. She tried to blot the image from her mind as she turned away, but forgetting the coldness was more difficult done than said.

Once, Hermione remembered a time when everything had been different. Dad had taken them on holidays, a different place each year—her parents had teased each other and laughed on the beach while she built sandcastles with the other kids—fortresses, where nothing could penetrate the walls, they pretended, until the tide came in to wash them away…

So much for that.

With a sigh, she began to slowly wheel toward the gate for the platform, and had almost pushed through the barrier, when she heard her name resounding through the station.

"Hey! Hermione!"

She twisted to see a freckled redhead sprinting towards her, missing her by a fraction of an inch.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were… _Hermione_?"

She returned his puzzled gaze with an ironic smile and greeted him with, "It's nice to see you too, Ron."

"You've… changed."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied lightly, wondering what was so horribly wrong with her, to bring on this reaction. She laughed as a cover-up, and wished Harry would come. Around Ron, she felt scrutinized and exposed. Harry, though not necessarily the happiest camper, was easier to be around—he was usually too busy with his own problems to notice hers.

"Shall we go, then?" she asked as she aimed her cart at the barrier, cutting off whatever he had been about to say.

* * *

She let out a giggle as they crashed through the door of the train compartment, turning up her face for another kiss.

"Merlin, Weasley, that's sickening. Do we really have to see it?"

"Shut your eyes if you don't like it, Malfoy," she shot back, brushing Dean aside as she turned to face the blond behind her.

"On second thought, keep going," he sneered. "Free porn is always better than having to pay."

Ginny bristled, flushing a deep red as deep anger flooded her.

"Leave it, Gin," Dean muttered, not making eye contact and looking slightly worried by the electricity that seemed to be flickering in the compartment.

"No," she replied softly, stepping forward and pulling out her wand. "I don't think that I want to."

"Ginny," Dean pleaded. "Not now."

She turned, looking at him with something cold and malicious, before allowing it to fade as her legs gave out and she crumpled to the ground.

She was sitting in the middle of all of the noise and reaching hands, none of the high, excited voices reaching her ears fully, answers rising to her mouth automatically.

"Have some turkey!" Ron exclaimed from across the table, wasting no time in stuffing his face.

"Can't. I'm a vegetarian."

"Since when?" Parvati wondered, curiosity glinting in her eyes.

"Since July, when I watched a show on feedlots. Besides, eating other creatures is barbaric."

"Isn't it not healthy to not eat meat?" Lavender asked, joining the conversation.

"I have protein supplements," she muttered, pushing around a piece of broccoli on her plate while watching Neville pour some glistening gravy on his food, and swallowing her disgust. Especially that, in a sick way, it looked almost appetizing. It was almost pathetic how easy it was to lie.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

She shrugged, casually standing from the table and making her way out of the Great Hall, ignoring protests from her friends. Once she was out of site, Hermione, barely made it to the toilets before her stomach rebelled. After emptying it, she leaned against the stall divider for nearly a full ten minutes before straightening and moving towards the sinks, rinsing the taste from her mouth with a barely repressed shudder.

* * *

"Miss Weasley, I really must insist…"

"I'm fine. It was a dizzy spell. You said there was nothing wrong with me and there isn't. All I want is to go have my supper!"

Madam Pomfrey scrutinized her momentarily, pursing her lips before nodding tersely. "If you must."

Ginny was out of the door before the nurse could finish the sentence, glad that she hadn't been too probing. The redhead herself wasn't even positive what had happened. For a second, she had felt the same as she had when…

She cut that thought off before it had a chance to surface, telling herself to stop being ridiculous.

* * *

Hermione finished applying the eyeliner, making sure that it wouldn't smudge, then moved on to the eye shadow. She preferred cold colors, normally, but today, she used shimmering gold, using it to make her eyes look slightly slanted upwards. Finishing, she stepped back to examine it, smiling slightly. No one had to tell her that there was too much. She knew, and liked it that way—this way, she could hide and no one would notice or see her as she was.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice echoed throughout Gryffindor tower.

She left the dormitory and glared down at him from the top of the stairs. "What?"

"You missed breakfast."

"I slept in."

That one wasn't a lie—it had begun towards the beginning of August, this exhaustion, giving her the desire to spend entire days without stirring from her room—not that she ever let herself.

"But you never sleep in. And what did you do to your eyes?"

"Nothing. I had problems falling asleep last night."

More truth. She had lain there for hours, unable to stop the summer's memories from crushing her and trying to convince herself that she was making something out of nothing, all the while making sure that she could feel her ribs through the thin t-shirt she was wearing, as if they would suddenly become eaten by flesh if she didn't double check.

Harry shrugged off the incident. "Well, we have transfiguration in about five minutes. And I brought you some toast, in case you were hungry."

"No thanks," she declined, brushing past him without meeting his gaze. "I can stop in at the kitchens between classes."

"Detention, Granger, I told you not to help him. And twenty points from Gryffindor."

Guarded eyes met guarded eyes, each pair glaring at the other. Hermione tried to look unaffected, as if she didn't care—no, she reminded herself, she _didn't_.

She could feel the sympathetic looks she was being sent, along with the sneers from the Slytherins, refusing to look up and acknowledge either. She had the impression that Snape was about to take off more points for insolence, but for some reason he held back. "Come see me after class."

"Yes, sir."

She hadn't helped Neville, not this time. She had just checked over what he had done to see whether or not it was right. And, for once, it was. But this time, she wouldn't argue about the unfairness—the bias Professor Snape showed—no matter how much it made her blood boil. It was something she could live with, something familiar by this point.

There were only about two minutes left in the class, anyway, so she wouldn't have to wait long to find out what her detention was. Not that she really had to—grading potions essays written by the second years, most likely.

An icy smile twitched at her lips as she was reminded of Snape's discovery as to how much she hated repetition last year, when she had been forced to recite the properties of unicorn hair repeatedly as penalty for talking back. It had replaced cauldron scrubbing as his favorite form of punishment—not to mention it was no secret that this group of second years were especially fond of copying each other's work. Of course, it was true what they said about clouds and silver linings—if anything, it gave her an excuse to miss dinner because she still had to go over her charms essay for tomorrow.

* * *

Hermione was ready to rip her hair out. The sentence didn't feel right, but she didn't know how to fix it. It was horrible, it ruined the rest of the only average essay, the essay that both of her parents had agreed wasn't acceptable from a daughter of theirs, even though neither of them knew a thing about charms—which said something, because her parents didn't agree on much these days. And she had detention in half an hour. Damn Professor Snape—he must have realized what he was doing, must have planned it out... She'd never manage to finish it at this rate.

She closed her eyes, trying to prevent tears of frustration from spilling over. At least there wasn't anyone to witness her breakdown—the only blessing. No one, especially not Snape, would ever get _that _satisfaction. Gritting her teeth, she began to scribble furiously, fighting back a yawn and the urge to put down her pen and just close her eyes for a moment.

* * *

Three hours later found her still bent over papers, but now in a different room. From the other side of the office, the dark man watched her out of the corner of his eye, to all appearances immersed in his work. His gaze made her uneasy—she felt as though a hole was being burned straight through her and he was able to see the deepest, darkest parts of her that even she didn't know, but every time she looked up, his eyes were averted, intent on the page of the book in front of him.

It was getting late, but she didn't dare ask to go. She already knew the answer so, without dwelling on it further, she applied her mind to the task before her. It was far too easy to give these students zeroes, just for having the same work as someone else, for plagiarizing from some textbook. She didn't even bother reading through the entire essay—they were all practically the same.

And as much as she had wanted to skip supper that night, she didn't want to stay any longer than necessary. Something about Severus Snape unnerved her—he made the blood pound in her veins, made her feel as if she was on display. It was strange and frightening and she didn't want to know what caused it.

"Would you kindly share what it is, precisely, that you find so fascinating?" His sardonic voice cut through her thoughts like a razor.

Flushing slightly, she looked down. She hadn't realized that she was staring.

"Nothing," she murmured, hiding behind her hair.

* * *

He kept his gaze on her, knowing the effect that it would have. In a strange way, it gave him pleasure—this power that made someone's hands tremble and their face color just by watching. But as far as he could tell, it was doing nothing. Her tiny frame was hunched over the work as if nothing had happened, jotting notes in the hand he knew to be meticulous. Beginning to grow tired of the game, he was about to glance back down at his book, but she jerked up suddenly, as if something had startled her.

So the girl was only pretending.

He had to give her credit for such a convincing facade. It wasn't everyone that could work steadily with someone breathing down her neck—particularly not when that someone was he. Of course, Hermione Granger wasn't just any student. Irritating as she was at times, her assignments had _substance_—they weren't just something thrown together at the last second and, bitter though he was, he appreciated it even though he knew that it was not done for his sake.

Their eyes met, and he saw dark circles under hers that he had never before noticed, hollowed out as if something was eating away at her. Of course, he couldn't be sure—it might always be smudged eyeliner—so with a mental shrug, he turned back to his work. It wasn't his concern.

* * *

When Hermione finally made it to her bed and was closing her eyes, more grateful than she had believed possible, tomorrow's essay came rushing back with terrible clarity. It was done, but she was sure that there was still some room for improvement, some stupid little spelling error…

Stifling a moan, along with a few colourful curses—she didn't want to wake up anyone else—she pulled out her work and slipped down to the common room silently.

Hours later, after reading and writing it over what felt like a million times, she was finally satisfied that there were no mistakes that could be fixed in one night. About to reread it for one last check, she flexed her hand and allowed her eyes a moment's rest—only a moment's. The last coherent thought she had before her head hit the table was that next Hogsmeade visit she would buy one of those quills that Rita Skeeter had been so fond of.

She awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window in front of her, wondering where she was. Squinting at the parchment that she had been using as a pillow, she remembered and gave herself a mental kick. All it would have taken was another five minutes…

About to return to the essay, another memory made her freeze. The snacks left out by the house elves that she let herself indulge in the previous night. Her stomach heaved, but she somehow kept it down. She wouldn't let herself retch—it was too late to do anything about it that way—but she had to get rid of it somehow.

A stroke of genius coming to her, she glanced up at the clock. It was still early enough that no one would be awake yet and the sun was shining invitingly. She slipped up to the dormitory to change silently, and paused at what she saw in the mirror. Her make-up had smudged overnight, making the hollows under her eyes even more obvious, and glitter dusted her cheekbones, making her look like some creature of another world.

But that was not what she saw.

She saw someone who had not yet become one of them. And she wanted to stay that way, no matter what it took.

She wanted perfection.

A/N: Well, here's the first chapter of the repost! Not too many changes from the original, just mostly some tweaks here and there. Hope you liked! (This story is also currently up through to Chapter 16 on Fiction Alley, under the pen name Marston Chicklet…)


	3. 2 Hiding

Disclaimer: Damn, I missed writing these things on FA… Almost more fun that the fic itself! Don't own Harry Potter, won't even try to convince you otherwise… But if I did, would you bake me cookies? And _The Onion Girl_ is copyright of Charles de Lint and whatever his publishing company is… (Why did I lend it out?)

A/N: I may or may not have mentioned earlier that this is a repost and was originally started before OotP, never mind HBP. I edited it to comply with OotP, but this completely and utterly ignores the events of the sixth book.

"_I'm the onion girl. Pull back the layers of my life, and you won't find anything at the core. Just a broken child. A hollow girl."_

—Jilly Coppercorn, from Charles de Lint's _The Onion Girl_

Perfection

Chapter 2: Hiding

When she jogged back inside, panting and dripping with sweat, there was still enough time to wash her hair before the school would begin to stir. Bundling up her clothes, she headed out of the portrait hole to the prefect baths, humming a jazz tune quietly to herself as she made her way out of the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady squinted at her briefly in astonishment as she passed, amazed that anyone would _want _to be up that early, then quickly dropped off to sleep again. Elated at the emptiness of the hallways, Hermione took the stairs two at a time and did a little spin as she rounded the corner, enjoying what was likely to be her only solitude that day. Her pirouette sent her flying head-on into Professor Snape, who was clearly not amused at her antics. He scowled down at her and she continued to grin foolishly for a moment before managing to straighten her face.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," he snapped, "and I'll make it more if you don't tell me what you're doing dancing in the corridors at five thirty in the morning."

"Going to take a bath," she responded, beginning to feeling slightly irritated that he had to be present to ruin her mood.

"At five thirty?" he repeated, a touch of incredulousness overriding the usual sarcasm.

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

He looked half awake and his eyes were unfocused. Evidently, he was not a morning person.

"Because I feel like it." She lifted her chin slightly, defiantly. "Does it really matter?"

"It matters because you are out of bed."

"But technically, it isn't night anymore, so I can't be out in the middle of the night," she returned, taking advantage of his partially awake state. "Really, it hasn't been night time since midnight."

He was staring at her with an expression of deep annoyance, squinting slightly as he processed her words. "I don't have time for this, Miss Granger," he snarled finally. "Get out of my way and don't run into me again!"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Severus massaged his temples. All he had really heard her say was something about the middle of the night, and then possibly elephantine hippogriffs. He wasn't even sure that she had been real. Probably something his headache had invented to drive him further over the edge.

It had been another one of _those _nights, where sleep was all but possible and memories rolled through his mind, making him feel sick to the stomach. Twice, he had barely made it to the toilet in time before his stomach heaved and bile lurched out. He hated vomiting more than anything. Hated the way it felt in his throat, when it poured out of his nose, the taste, the putrid stench—especially the stench—and the revolting, stained color that never washed out completely.

Not to mention the throbbing headache that always followed.

"The usual, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey asked without looking up. He had a guilty feeling that the mediwitch slept even less than he did.

"Of course. Why else would I be here?" He tried sneering, but winced instead and the effect was lost.

"Charming as ever," she muttered to her paperwork, reaching over and passing him a bottle of the potion from the corner of her desk. "I had a feeling that you would need it sometime soon."

He swallowed it in one gulp, gasping as it burned his throat and made his eyes water.

"Gods, Poppy, can't you add sugar to it or something?"

"Need I remind you that you were the one who brewed it?"

Severus glared at her, feeling himself return to normal. "I assumed that some student who deserved it would be drinking it, not _me_…"

She laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. "You must be feeling better. Out! I have work to do. Three more victims came in last night and I need to find out what happened to them and why—"

"If there was a reason at all," he cut in bitterly.

"I'll owl you when I find out, since you're really the only one in this place adept with potions."

"Adept?" he snarled, feigning anger. "The rest of the staff has no idea what a cauldron is, let alone how to use it. Compared to you lot, I'm a lot more than adept—I'm a bloody saviour."

Rolling her eyes, she shooed him off, privately pleased that he was at least making an attempt to behave in a manner that might be construed as normal.

* * *

Hermione's previous good mood had vanished. Usually baths relaxed her, gave her time to think. But right now, she didn't want time to think. Thinking was dangerous—it led her mind down paths that it shouldn't wander. Sinking into the scalding water and letting her hair flow out, she sighed deeply, imagining her thoughts as bits of dirt floating out away from her as she tried to work out the kinks in her neck that came from sleeping on the hard wooden desk.

_I wish… _she thought, and then stopped. What good would it do her?

She slid down further into the water, submerging her head completely and stayed under as long as she could before bursting to the surface, feeling cleansed. She crawled out of the bath and towelled herself dry, taking a moment to run her hands over her ribcage and almost non-existent breasts to make sure that nothing had changed since she had last checked.

Yanking on her robes, she prepared herself to leave but paused in front of the mirror on her way out, examining her reflection critically. As always, her nose was a little too large and the dark circles under her eyes combined with the lack of makeup made her look like a scared little girl. Overall, nothing more than average.

Before she had gone to school, her mother had had friends over every Saturday afternoon while her dad was out golfing or restoring his latest car and, more often than not, she found herself the subject of their scrutiny. Clucking, they would admire her, telling her mother repeatedly how lucky she was to have a daughter who never cried of complained, and _what _and angel she was… Such a pretty little girl. For days afterward, Hermione would study her reflection, much as she was now, trying to find a glimpse of the beauty that they had gushed over, but only seeing herself.

* * *

Agrippa Granger drummed her fingers on the kitchen table and stared numbly at the clock. Three o'clock and he still wasn't home. She didn't need three guesses to find out where he was.

She heard the car pull up into the driveway, and stayed perfectly still, bracing herself for the inevitable.

* * *

Hermione's first blow of the term arrived a week later in Charms when their essays were handed back. Twenty-three out of twenty-five? What had she done wrong?

She scanned the paper frantically, trying to figure it out. Two spelling mistakes.

_Shit._

Well, this one wasn't going home to her parents.

Folding it in half, she shoved it into her bag and tried to forget about it, tried to ignore that painful thumping under her rib cage that was her heart. It was only one mark. Only one, and in the course of the year, it wouldn't make a difference. But she would have to work harder than ever.

Class ended, and she headed straight to the library. Lunch was trivial.

* * *

Silence. Again. Merlin, she was beginning to loathe silence.

"So you made the team?" Dean asked finally.

Ginny nodded.

"Starting Seeker?"

"No. Chaser—starting."

Confusion marred his features.

"And reserve Seeker," she added, "because Harry's allowed back on the team."

"Ah." The frown disappeared and Ginny settled back in the old armchair they were sharing, resting her head on his shoulder.

Idly, she wondered how this had cooled off so suddenly, without any warnings. How had he been sending her love notes every morning and winking at her from down the breakfast table as she read them—notes urging her to blow off Charms to meet him at the lake or in the abandoned room they had discovered at the end of June that had lain forgotten in the labyrinth of Hogwarts—just last week?

She was already well used to this feeling—the ending of a relationship. Boys usually only stuck around long enough to get in a couple of good shags or else they left when it became clear that they weren't getting one right off, but some stupid little part of her had hoped Dean would be different.

His thumb gently stroked her palm—a gesture more to make sure that she was still there than one of tenderness—making Ginny consider for the first time that maybe it was Dean who was different from everyone else after all and she who was the same.

* * *

She was poring over a paper that she was trying to write for Potions, flipping through the pages of an ancient book, when Ron stopped over on his way across the common room.

"Hi," she said, not looking up.

"What _are _you doing?"

"Potions essay."

"It isn't due until next week," he commented incredulously.

"Exactly."

"Here, have some brain food."

He flipped a piece of candy from Honeydukes at her, and she watched it fly through the air, landing on her parchment.

"It's okay," she replied quickly, pushing it to the side and continuing to scribble.

"No, really, I won't miss it."

She had the feeling that he was testing her, making sure she could eat or something. Besides, what was she, anorexic or something? One little bit of sugar wouldn't hurt her.

She reached out to pick it up, then froze in mid-air. One would lead to another, and before she knew it…

She didn't see the bewildered expression on Ron's face as he watched her inner struggle—everything was between her and the food sitting on the table. Before she could stop herself, she snatched it up and shoved it in her mouth, resisting the urge to spit it out. It felt strange and coarse in her throat as she swallowed, almost sickening in its sweetness.

"Are you okay, 'Mione?" Ron asked, squinting.

She nodded. "Sorry, but I have a lot to do right now…"

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before he walked away.

* * *

"What I do at work is none of your goddamn business!"

"If it affects this family, it is!"

For once, Steve was home early, but it made little difference as Agrippa was rapidly finding that she missed the tense silence of being alone.

"We haven't been a family for about five years now, in case you haven't noticed. I thought you were smarter than that!"

"If I were any smarter, I never would have realised what I was getting into!"

But even as she shrieked the words, Agrippa knew that she would have. No matter how much he hurt her, she still loved him.

"So go on, divorce me! I don't give a shit!"

"We have a daughter to think about," she hissed. "It isn't all about you. Believe me, if it weren't for her, I wouldn't have stayed around for half of the time we've been married."

Her hand lashed out and caught him on the cheek before she stormed away, locking herself in the washroom and stuffing a towel in the cracks in the doorway so he wouldn't hear the sobs.

No matter how hot Hell really was, chances were it wouldn't be scorching enough for him, she told herself bitterly, reaching for a Kleenex only to find that the box was already empty.

* * *

Catch. Dodge. Pass. Catch.

She wove through the green mass, clutching the Quaffle to her chest with her shock of red hair streaming behind her.

"Shoot, Gin!"

She wasn't sure whose voice it was, but the advice seemed good enough for her to follow. The Keeper's eyes darting frantically as she prepared to shoot, trying to judge where she was aiming. He guessed wrong and the Quaffle sailed through the far left goalpost amidst wild cheers. She looped a victory lap around the pitch, wheeling just in time to dodge a bludger and barely noticing when the cheers turned into a collective gasp.

The only part of Harry's fall that she saw was the very end, when he hit the mud.

"Right, Gillian fill in for Ginny—she'll play Seeker," Harry shouted, fighting off Madam Pomfrey, who was trying to take him away on a stretcher. "Beaters, take out anyone who gets near the net—no offence Ron—because we have to make sure they don't get a lead on us. Gin, take my broom—you've flown it enough times to know what you're doing. It'll give you an edge. Try and end the game as quickly as you can. And keep up the scoring—Burgess is weak on the left…"

Madam Pomfrey finally succeeded in getting him out of earshot, thereby ending the time out, but they could still see his mouth moving. Without a second thought, Ginny hopped onto the Firebolt, relishing the way it flew smoothly, and shot up in a blur of red to join the rest of her team.

"Ready to lose, Weasley?" Malfoy sneered and she looped around him recklessly with a laugh.

"I'm ready for anything, lard boy," she shot back, gesturing to his slicked-back hair. "What about you? Ready to get your arse whipped by a girl?"

"Didn't know you had a dominatrix side."

"You're a pig," she informed him, unable to hide a grin.

Her team—Harry especially—hated when she taunted their opponents. They had chastised her frequently last year for losing focus whenever the verbal battles began and no matter how often she explained, none of them—except maybe Fred and George—could grasp the process. It was a hunt of sorts, her way of bringing all of her energy into the game. First you toyed with one another, then, when the moment was right, you darted in for the kill.

Leaving Malfoy to stew for a bit, she rose above the play, keeping a sharp eye for the Snitch. There—over by the teachers… Never mind, only the sun on Dumbledore's glasses. Below her, Slytherin scored and she rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Ron," she muttered, glad they were still in the lead.

Gillian had the Quaffle now, giving Ginny a chance to appraise her fully for the first time since tryouts. She might shape up to be a good player, she mused, if she learned to give in to instinct. She was too hesitant, too unsure of herself, which made it easy to read what she was about to do. Slytherin intercepted one of her passes and Ginny moaned in frustration before turning her attention to finding the Snitch. If Gryffindor was going to have a chance, she would need to catch it soon.

From beneath her, Malfoy shot a smirk and she replied with a coquettish wave, pretending to preen, much to the disgust of many players. Her eye caught the Snitch, hiding by the Gryffindor goalpost, but Malfoy was much closer. It was only pure dumb luck that she had seen it first.

Looking away before he could notice the direction of her gaze, she lowered into a steep dive, praying that he would follow. A quick glance behind her showed that he did. With a grin, she continued to drop, feeling no fear as the ground grew closer and closer. Two feet before collision, she pulled up and accelerated into the direction she had last seen the Snitch. She could hear a dull thud behind her followed by cursing, but she didn't dare look now. The glint of gold was on the move, flitting its way this way and that. She urged the Firebolt forward and clasped her hand over it, grinning when Madam Hooch blew the whistle. Looking down, she could see Malfoy picking himself off of the grass below with a considerable slouch.

She plummeted, pausing at his eye level briefly, and said, "Good game. Stay on your broom next time and maybe you'll have a chance."

Glaring at her with something like hatred, he snarled and lunged. She reversed and laughed as he fell again.

"Don't take it too badly. I'm only the reserve Seeker—you won't have to worry about me next time you play us."

* * *

Months passed, a space of time when Hermione had never felt so distant. She had received a letter from her mother practically commanding her to come home for Christmas holidays. Christmas was a time for family, after all.

_Yeah, some family we are._

She floated through the days, never feeling much, never allowing herself to concentrate on anything but school. If she was good enough, maybe some supreme being would decide to intervene in her life, make everything better, even though she had long since learned that magic didn't work that way.

But as long as she was dreaming, a knight in shining armour would be nice.

* * *

Severus woke up one morning after the first night of proper sleep in a while, and realized that it was almost Christmas. Well, technically, there was still a month, but it was close enough for Dumbledore to be in exceedingly high spirits, even for him.

He couldn't believe that he had completely missed Hallowe'en. He supposed that he had realized subconsciously, but he couldn't help but feel that he was being cheated out of life.

_This is your life. Nothing stays long enough to be noticed._

Preferable this way, really.

At breakfast, he sipped his coffee, even more withdrawn than usual. The full moon was coming up, which meant…

He shuddered involuntarily.

"Good morning, Severus," the headmaster practically chirruped.

"Wonderful to be alive, isn't it," he replied, the sarcasm almost visible it was laid on so thickly.

"We had a frost last night. I always feel more… _alive_… after a frost, don't you?"

"Oh, the difference is shocking."

That would explain why his rooms had been freezing.

The older wizard studied him for a moment, his piercing blue eyes boring into Severus, who was left with the impression that the aged man could see into his very soul. Albus Dumbledore shook his head sadly as he turned away, making Severus smile grimly. Apparently his soul looked just as bleak as the rest of his life.

Lovely.

* * *

He was old. No one, not even himself, could deny that. Despite the fact that he was reputed to be good-natured, Albus could feel the years dragging on him. True, he delighted in the simple things life had to offer, but that was because he had learned him that you wouldn't always be able to enjoy them later. Harmony, peace, even love, were more often than not short-lived. Watching them die was more painful than a thousand Cruciatus Curses.

But to see someone who had never experienced any of it was the hardest thing of all.

* * *

"Miss Granger."

The voice was hard, unyielding. She snapped to attention, noticing suddenly that there was no one left in the potions class except for her and Professor Snape.

"Yes, sir?"

"Unless you so enjoy my company that you cannot bear to leave my side, you may now leave."

She stared at him for a moment, thoughts still clouded by her daydreams.

"As in, _now._"

She stood up quickly, coming to her senses. "Yes, sir."

She hurried out the room, stopping only once she was in a deserted corridor and leaned against the stone wall to stop herself from blacking out.

What had just happened in there? She couldn't remember any of the class, and she couldn't afford those lapses in concentration, especially after that essay mark, two months ago, now. She hadn't had any other marks like that, but she didn't want to risk it.

It was all becoming too much, this need to be perfect…

She could imagine the look on her parents' faces if she told them that. _No one ever got anywhere by giving up because of a touch of laziness, _they would tell her. _Just because you're tired doesn't mean you stop trying._

So this would just have to be another thing she kept to herself. Besides, what imaginary Mum and Dad told her was the truth. Slacking off was the thing that would kill her.

Brushing the hair that had fallen into her face away, she squared her shoulders and straightened her tiny frame before walking away, thankful that no one had witnessed her moment of weakness.

* * *

The words he hurled at her stung more than the pain of a thousand beatings, she didn't think she could take it anymore. She wanted to crumple to the floor crying, but she wouldn't.

_He can't win,_ Agrippa thought, screaming something that she barely hear back. _I can't let him have this victory, or any other. _

Her husband stormed away and she could hear the door slam behind him as he left the house. When she heard the car drive out, she collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and let the tears fall in a hot and silent flood.

* * *

The pain was blinding, it was taking over, he couldn't see, couldn't feel anything but what coursed through him, could only hear the sound of his own screams. He wouldn't betray them, though. That was the one sane thought that he held onto throughout the torture, throughout the ordeal…

And then, peace.

"Severus."

"Yes, my lord."

"I trust that you are loyal to me."

"And always will be, my lord."

"Do not lie to me again."

Severus remained kneeling, wishing that his hands would stop trembling. "I will not."

The cold, inhuman voice sent shudders down him, and he had to fight to keep his hands from trembling.

"You may join in the revel."

"Thank you, my lord."

The shadow swept away, leaving the pale and shaking man crouched on the flagstones.

_You chose this life, _a tiny voice reminded him.

_Don't I know it._

But the thought was unnecessary—the sick feeling that was rising in his stomach was enough to remind him.

* * *

When Ginny finally found him, he was lying on his bed in the dormitory staring numbly at his packed luggage. He raised a hand in greeting without looking over and she flopped down next to him. They lay in silence for a while, but it wasn't the awkward silence that had filled the space between them for the last few weeks. It was an accepting silence, the silence of realisation.

"I came to say goodbye," she murmured, wishing that there was some way to avoid the words.

He nodded. "I know."

"Goodbye for good," she clarified, and he nodded again. "It's not that I don't like you or anything. You're a great guy, really. I'm just not ready for you yet."

He pushed a strand of hair out of her face and smiled distantly. "I'm glad you realised that."

She tried to reply, but only seemed to be able to choke on the tears that she didn't want to release, taking comfort in the fact that it could only go up from here.

* * *

"Merry Christmas, Hermione! Have a good time!" Harry called after her.

_Likely, very likely._

"You too! 'Bye!"

She hurried out of the school, not wanting anyone to read the expression on her face, not wanting them to know. On the train, she sat in her own compartment, hugging her knees to her chest, and refusing the lady with the food trolley harshly when she stopped by.

_Please, please, please…_

Her thoughts matched the rhythm of the train as it chugged its way to London. To London and everything she had tried to forget.

* * *

"Severus."

He whirled around, wand ready to attack. The headmaster gently pried it out of fingers that had gone white with clenching it.

"I—"

"I understand, Severus."

He tried not to flinch under Albus Dumbledore's assessing gaze.

"But there is a matter of some importance that I would like to speak with you about."

"So talk to me about it."

"Come into my office," the older man suggested in a tone that told Severus he wasn't about to like this "matter of importance" at all.

* * *

Once again, her father wasn't at King's Cross when Hermione pushed through the barrier. Her mother was, though, and if her face was any more pinched, Hermione thought that it would turn into a raisin.

"Mum!" she called, pasting a smile on her face.

"Darling!" The raisin look was replaced by a look of happiness even more false than Hermione's.

Agrippa rushed over to her daughter and gave her a showy hug, no longer having to bend over because her daughter was only a few inches shorter now, kissing her on the cheek.

"I missed you so much."

"Yeah." Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her mother's embrace. Pulling away, she asked, "Where's Dad?" and instantly regretted the question.

Her mother stiffened, regaining the raisin look, and replied in a cold voice, "He had to work. He'll be home for supper."

There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation.

"So…" Hermione began. "What's for dinner?"

She only half listened as Agrippa rattled off the ingredients of a casserole, praying that she could come up with some excuse not to eat it. As they reached the car, she suddenly changed topic.

"I thought I told you not to wear so much make-up. If anything, you're wearing more." "Did you?" Hermione replied vaguely, really not able to recall.

"You know that your father doesn't like it."

_Why does everything lead back to _him

"Oh, well that's his problem, isn't it?"

"I don't like your attitude!"

All traces of motherly affection were gone now, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that the past few months hadn't been easy on her mother. There were new lines around her mouth and eyes that hadn't been there during the summer. The sleek chestnut hair had no more grey in it than it had in August, but Hermione knew that her mother dyed it, so that meant nothing.

* * *

Severus apparated into the street in front of the hotel, trying to mask his annoyance. He hated it when other people decided what was best for him, and a holiday away from the magical world did not sound appealing at all. He hated London. There was no space to think, what with too many people crammed into too little space, all jostling and pushing and not realizing that there was anything but their own empty lives.

But he hadn't exactly been given a choice. The reservation had been made, and now he was walking up the front steps, looking forward to what would probably be the worst vacation of his life.

Some impertinent kid tried to take his bags, but backed off at the glare he received. This was _not _his idea of a break.

Well, her father was home, and Hermione found herself wishing that he wasn't. She understood her mother's coldness toward him now. The screaming downstairs was even worse than it had been over the summer on those rare occasions when he had opted to make an appearance.

Rolling over, she turned up her music to full blast in hopes of drowning it out.

A/N: I could dance and sing you, "I'm a review whore, hear me shout/ Click the button and ream me out!" to the tune of "I'm a Little Teapot," but I like to think I'm above that. So let me know what you think and I won't have to make such sacrifices on the altar of dignity.


	4. 3 Ugly Girls

"_It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."_

Marcus Aelius Aurelius

Perfection

Chapter 3: Ugly Girls

Hermione delayed getting out of bed until she heard both of her parents leave for work, then stumbled into the kitchen and downed a cup of coffee while scanning the street in front of the house.

It surprised her, the thought that it was no longer _her _house in her mind. It had lost the feeling of home that some houses have, that feeling of welcome. Maybe it was because she knew what went on under the surface, but it felt cold and unforgiving. Like the words that were still echoing in her mind, despite being drowned out by music.

She saw a note on the table, scrawled in her mother's hand, obviously hastily written.

_Your father's sister and her family are in town for a few days. We're eating dinner with them tomorrow night, I just talked to them on the phone. After work, I'll take you shopping for suitable clothes._

_There are dishes in the sink that need to be washed._

Hermione crumpled up the piece of paper and sighed. She hated her father's relatives; she had never met two people more obsessed with money. And their son, Arthur, was terrifying. He was a representation of exactly what she did _not _want to be—a giant. Last time she had seen him, he looked like a miniature replica of a walrus, and he had only been thirteen years old at the time. She shuddered to think of him at fifteen.

Not to mention that he was a snob. She didn't know too many muggle boys, but she had a strong suspicion that most of them didn't wear ties for relaxation and recite the periodic table of the elements off for fun. The fact that Arthur snorted while laughing didn't help his case much either, she mused silently.

With a sigh, she turned to the sink and began running the water, adding soap and watching as it bubbled up around the counter. Putting on the rubber gloves that her mother kept handy, she wrinkled her nose at the leftover food that floated up off of the dishes, nearly jumping out of her skin when the phone rang. It was the last thing she had expected.

"Hello?"

"Hermione?"

"Speaking. Sarah?"

"Yeah."

"Hey!"

Hermione forced herself to sound cheerful at the sound of her former best friend's voice. Truth was, except for a few times during holidays, she hadn't seen her much over the last few years.

"Your mom told me the other day that you were coming back for Christmas this year, and I thought, since I hardly ever see you, that I should call and see if you wanted to go do something."

"Sure," Hermione replied, trying desperately to sound enthused. "Like what?"

"Well, in a few days, we're going downtown to see a movie and do some last-minute Christmas shopping, so if you want to come…"

"Who's 'we?'" Hermione asked.

"Umm… not too sure yet, but definitely Allison, Julie, and maybe Sandra… You remember her, right?"

"Yeah, sort of…"

She remembered Sandra a bit too well, to tell the truth. The most recent memory was the year before she went to Hogwarts, when Sandra had stolen her math notebook and thrown it in the toilet. Not particularly flattering.

"So, are you coming?"

She hesitated, not sure that she wanted to be a charity case, but one glance around the stifling house made her quickly decide that she didn't care.

"Of course!"

* * *

Severus wandered into the hotel restaurant and followed a waitress to a vacant table. He skimmed over the menu, wondering if any of this food was remotely edible. If he could keep it down, it was more than all the house-elves of Hogwarts could do.

Finally, he settled on a bagel, deciding that it wouldn't be wasting _that _much money.

This was turning out to be some vacation.

* * *

Ginny flopped back on her bed, heaving a sigh. Hogwarts was virtually empty now—a feeling that she usually enjoyed—but she was still too busy wallowing to care much.

_Idiot_, she told herself, repeating the word several times mentally. _Idiot._ _Idiot. Idiot._

Whether she was referring to herself or Dean, she didn't know and nor did she particularly care. She preferred to think it was Dean because it slightly alleviated the agony, but...

_Not Dean, _a voice insisted. _You._ _You fucked up, girl. _

She tried to shrug the thought away. It didn't really matter whose fault it was, the point was that it had happened. It was over. Not like it hadn't happened before. No difference from the last time.

_Except this time you care…_

"Shut up!" she snapped, her words ringing out awkwardly into the silence.

_Great, now you're talking to yourself. Fucked up and insane. _

"Not insane," she whispered, pulling her pillow to her chest and hugging it. "Just sad."

* * *

"Try on this one."

Agrippa was holding up a black halter-top dress that wouldn't have been out of place at a club. Hermione raised an eyebrow, wondering if her mother was trying to push her into a career that involved walking the streets late at night. You had to be perfect to wear something that sexy and get away with it.

Reluctantly, she accepted it and went back into the change room of the store, slipping out of the scarlet brothel-gown she was already in. She put it back on the hanger, glad she had convinced her mother that that one wasn't such a great idea. She hated red, hated the way it drew attention to her. She preferred not to be scrutinized. Not to mention that it made her look like an eight-year-old prostitute.

Once in the next dress, she glanced down, making sure it wasn't too low cut before stepping out. The filmy fabric flowed down over her and seemed to surround her in a cloud as she looked in the mirror. The appraising eyebrow shot up again as she spun doubtfully for her mother. It bunched oddly around the middle, making her look more petite than usual and—

"We're taking this one," Agrippa said, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She hated dressing rooms. The lights seemed to buzz and flicker, making her feel like she was about to have a seizure.

"Oh, and Mum," Hermione said, ducking back behind the curtain and stripping, "I'm going downtown with Sarah in a few days."

"Who, dear?"

"Sarah… You remember her, don't you?"

"That girl who was always getting you into trouble?"

"No, Mum," Hermione replied trying not to sound exasperated. "That was Sandra. Sarah was my best friend before I went away for school."

Agrippa didn't reply, so Hermione thought it would be safe to push a little further.

"I need to do some last-minute shopping anyway," she tried, exiting the dressing room and handing her mother the dress.

"Of course, darling."

_I'm not your darling, _Hermione wanted to scream. _Do you even know who I am?_

* * *

She lay on her bed, staring numbly at the ceiling, trying to ignore the fact that it was two o'clock in the morning and the loneliness that seemed to press in on her. It all felt too much.

It was silent in the house now, but it hadn't been minutes before. She tried to forget without success. Tried to forget the slamming of the front door that still echoed in her ears, the crying in the bedroom down the hall. Tried to forget the tense meal hours before that started everything. But most of all, she tried to forget when they were happy. Tried to forget what seems to have been a lifetime ago.

It all seemed so hopeless; there didn't seem to be any way to go back to what they once were. She wrapped her arms around her thin body and felt more useless and blemished than before.

* * *

He awoke in the darkness, eyes wild, blankets wrapped around him, imprisoning him. Memories, suppressed during the day, hunt him by night, haunt him. Images burned in his mind, and his stomach protested.

He made it to the toilet and rested on the edge of the bathtub beside it, sitting in the hotel washroom for a long time after, head buried in his hands.

Why had she bought the dress? True, it had looked good the first time she had put it on, but the longer she looked in the mirror, the more she hated herself in it. It flaunted every flaw, made her look _huge. _And there were only twenty minutes until they left, so there was nothing she could do about it.

Down the hall, she could hear her parents arguing about something through their bedroom door. Checking her eyeliner to make sure it hadn't smudged, she wished they could just go. Her hands trembled as she reapplied the lip gloss that she had already licked off in her anxiety.

_Shut up!_ she screamed at them mentally.

"Are you coming?" Her father's tense voice floated to her ears.

Hermione hurried out of her room and down the stairs, nearly colliding with her mother.

"Take that shit off your face!" he snapped.

She rolled her eyes and pushed past him, pulling on her coat.

"You look like a fucking whore. Take it off now!"

"Don't talk to her like that!"

Hermione jerked to look at her mother. It was the first time in a while that anyone had defended her.

"Oh, now you're going to tell me how to raise my daughter?"

"There's more evidence proving that she's mine," Agrippa snarled, making Hermione want to sink into the floor rather than sit this out.

"I can tell."

Agrippa slammed her hand against his face as hard as she could, saw him flinch and enjoyed a brief moment of satisfaction before he laughed it off.

"Let's go," he ordered, apparently forgetting about his daughter's eyeliner.

* * *

The mood at dinner was tense to say the least. From the time they had arrived at the hotel until now, Hermione's parents hadn't said a word to each other, not even, "Pass the salt."

Agrippa was having a conversation with Hermione's aunt, Josephine, who apparently had some sort of nervous twitch that surfaced every time her husband spoke, while Steve glowered, and her uncle barked orders at Arthur as he shoveled food down his throat.

"Sit up straight; you'll never impress anyone like that!"

He ignored his father, stuffing half a steak into his mouth rather than answering.

Hermione pushed around a piece of pasta on her plate, trying not to feel nauseous, but with that pig sitting across from her, it was damn near impossible. She didn't want to be like that, ever. The very idea made her skin crawl and her stomach churn. Why had she eaten the salad?

"Excuse me," she said politely, standing up. "I'll be back in a minute."

Once out of the restaurant and in the lobby, she stalked to the toilets and locked herself in a stall, forcing herself to vomit repeatedly until the revulsion left.

When she came out, she looked at herself in the mirror, just to be sure.

* * *

He walked briskly down the corridor, rounding a corner, and crashed into someone headlong. She stumbled to the floor, and Severus could see why. Her heels were at least six inches high, and she didn't look particularly strong.

He leaned over and offered his hand to help her up while she tried to avoid looking at him.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I didn't see…"

Her voice trailed off as she realized who she was talking to and he recognized her just as suddenly. Both of them stiffened visibly, and Severus tried to forget his initial reaction of thinking she was attractive.

Hermione recovered first. "Good evening, professor," she said formally, her voice as yielding as starched linen.

"Good evening," he replied, just as formally.

"I didn't mean to run into you. Again."

She smiled self-deprecatingly and he wondered briefly if there was some sort of magnet pulling them together, but that lead to thoughts about animal magnetism and…

_It's not as if you haven't seen a pretty girl before,_ he reminded himself, squashing the thought before it could run away. _You're practically drooling…_

"Sir, is something wrong?"

Very wrong. She's your student.

"Don't trouble yourself with matters that have nothing to do with you, silly girl."

She raised her eyebrows, looking as though there was something that she wanted to say, but held whatever it was back. As she stalked away on spindly legs, he noticed that her hands had balled into fists.

* * *

As soon as she thought it couldn't get much worse, he had to show up. No one managed to annoy her more than Severus Snape… Except, well, occasionally Ron but that was beside the point. As she slid back into her seat, she found that nothing had changed in the few minutes since she had been gone, except that Arthur was on his third plate of steak and potatoes, and her mother was hissing instructions at her father as his face became more and more flushed with anger by the second.

Hermione ignored the plate of food in front of her and stared blankly out the window, each minute stretching into an hour, praying that her parents would finish eating before committing homicide. She had a feeling that the restaurant owners wouldn't enjoy cleaning the blood out of the carpet.

* * *

"Draco, darling, I have a surprise for you!" Narcissa greeted him as he dumped his suitcase in the hall. He had a feeling he wouldn't like his mother's surprise. In fact, he had a feeling that it would make him wish that he had decided to stay in Diagon Alley one more night.

"Hello, Mother," he greeted her, kissing her cheek. "What is it?"

Before she could answer, another figure appeared behind her. He was tall, blond, and Draco blinked, praying that the image was just his overactive imagination.

"Father?" he swallowed.

"Your time has come. Tonight you join me at the side of our Lord."

There were so many things rushing through Draco's mind, so many things he wanted to say. _Why aren't you in prison like you should be?_ and, _Not yet_, were at the top of the list.

"Come, we must prepare."

Oh, shit.

* * *

She looked out the car window at the city, so beautiful in the night, with the colored lights and slight haze blanketing it. So beautiful it hurt, making that longing in her surface and a lump form in her throat.

It was silent inside the confines of the vehicle and the air was so heavy she could almost see it, only making matters worse.

* * *

She dreamed. She wasn't sure what was going on, but she knew enough to be terrified of whatever it was that was chasing her through her dream world. It was familiar, almost, this sense of being hunted, this sense of being another's prey and some part of her mind that wasn't focused on running away told her that she was sick of it.

With a snarl, she whirled around, bracing herself for the attack, but it never came. Instead, the grey fog that was surrounding her parted and before her she saw an all-too recognizable face. To her horror, it was smiling.

"Ginny," the face whispered coaxingly.

She shrieked, dragging the scream out until it pulled her from the last tendrils of sleep.

* * *

When they arrived home, Hermione went straight up to her room and yanked the dress off, glad to finally be rid of the itchy fabric and the dirty, stained feeling left over from dinner. Pulling on the oldest, most comfortable clothes that she owned, she sagged into the bed, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.

Hugging her thin body, she curled up into a tiny ball of misery, alone and so tired of everything.

* * *

A sharp pain in his forearm awakened him from the first uninterrupted sleep he had experienced in a long time. It lasted only a brief period and Severus wondered if he had imagined it. Within moments, however, it had returned, and he quickly transfigured his clothing into black robes and apparated from the hotel, forcing himself into that numb state of mind where it was only in reflection that he would feel the full weight of what had happened.

* * *

Hermione had been awake for hours when the phone rang. She answered, surprised to hear Sarah on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hermione?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Are you still coming today?"

She had to think for a moment before remembering. "Er… yeah, of course I am."

"Great, we'll pick you up in half an hour."

* * *

When Severus was back in his hotel room, he collapsed on his bed for a moment, and closed his eyes, trying to forget, to block the thoughts that rolled through his mind. Without much success.

Groaning, he dashed to the toilet and retched several times, willing the images of the previous night to leave him. He had given her all of the mercy he could without raising suspicion—a quick death. And even that had been risky. But even before he had given her that, the things that had been done to her were unspeakable, sickening.

Another wave of nausea shook him, and he leaned his head over the toilet a second time, resting his chin on the cool porcelain when he had finished. Silently, he called on the gods that his mother worshipped, although until now he had had no need of them.

_No, _he thought. _If I'm going to depend on them, I should do it even when I'm content. _Assuming that it ever happened…

Shaking his head to clear it, he decided to take a walk. A nice long walk to banish the images…

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, a car paused in front of Hermione's house, and she stood up from where she had been sitting on the front stoop. The door opened, and she slid in next to someone she vaguely recognized. Sarah was in the front seat next to her mother, who, she was assured, wasn't coming with them.

The girl she was sitting next to was Sandra, she learned. She, like Sarah, was tall and blonde, but Hermione was fairly sure that her hair was dyed. They sized each other up for a moment, and although she flinched inwardly, none of it showed. Sandra studied her, taking in the heavy eye make-up, the too-thin figure, and the hair falling in her face to hide it, and the slight surprise on her face at the way she had changed quickly turned into a sneer.

The third girl in the car was Jean Blythe, who had just moved to London that year from Cornwall. She was smaller and paler than the other two, with wispy brown hair and too-large blue eyes, but her smile, despite its shyness, was the only one that seemed genuine.

"Weren't there other people coming too?" Hermione asked, remembering something dimly about Julie and Allison.

"Family stuff came up."

"Oh."

There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation as they stopped at a traffic light and Sarah's mother broke it by swearing at someone who ran a red light.

"Sorry," she apologized. "It's just that son of a bitch who—"

"Mum," Sara reminded her dryly.

Hermione hid a grin—all of the cursing she knew of the non-magical kind had come to her by way of Sarah's mother before the age of six.

"Sorry."

There was some hesitant giggling from the back as the car moved forward again.

The rest of the ride was silent other than the exclamations of Sarah's mother at the other drivers and apologies that followed. When they reached the street they had planned to shop on, the four girls piled out of the car with the instructions to be back at five.

"So, now where?" Sarah asked once they were free.

Three hours later found them walking down the street, Sandra and Sarah giggling so hard that they could barely stand, with Jean and Hermione looking slightly annoyed. Hermione was wondering why she had come along at all. She could be at home doing… What? Wallowing in self-pity?

Anyway, she had finished all of her last minute shopping, including small gifts for her aunt, uncle, and Arthur.

Still, she continued to dwell on the feeling that they thought she was strange, especially Sandra. Throughout the morning, she had snubbed Hermione several times, subtly sliding barbs into the conversation that were only meant to be understood by the two of them. Hermione hadn't expected any more or less. She spent so much of her time at Hogwarts, buried in books that she didn't know about what happened in the muggle world at all any more. And as they day dragged on, she increasingly found that she didn't particularly care.

She knew the two blondes that she was with, even if they had barely spoken for the last several years. They were the living, breathing form of the criticisms that were heaped on her and being around them filled her with a frightening urge to smash and hit and… She quelled the violent thoughts, forcing herself to focus on Jean rather than Sarah or Sandra.

Jean was a bit of an outsider too, Hermione noticed. Maybe because she was new or shy, or perhaps both. She didn't seem to like Sandra much more than Hermione did, which resulted in many shared eyebrow raises, although neither of them said anything out loud.

"Let's get something to eat," Sarah suggested after about two hours and twenty stores. "I'm starving."

"Sounds good," Sandra agreed, and they started off without waiting for Jean or Hermione.

Hermione felt sick. She wasn't hungry at all, and after watching Arthur eat last night, she doubted she would be for a while to come. But she followed the other three into the coffee shop and ordered an obligatory sandwich and cup of black coffee.

"How can you drink that stuff straight?" Sandra asked as she sat down.

Hermione shrugged. "I like it." Which wasn't totally true. She didn't like the taste, but she liked the way the caffeine buzzed through her, giving her energy without having to eat.

They moved on to another conversation about something that had happened at school—apparently, they all went to a public school still. Hermione only half-listened as she watched the people walk by outside, all concerned with themselves, their own problems.

She wondered vaguely who they were, what their lives were like, if they had any family. But when someone familiar stalked in the door, bringing with him a blast of icy air, her heart nearly stopped.

"Excuse me," she said to the others, standing and leaving her barely touched food on the plate. As she made her way to the washroom, she was aware of his hard gaze following her, studying her movements.

And as she doubled over in the stall, forcing the contents of her stomach out, she wondered what he had seen, how many ugly things, when he looked at her today and last night.

A/N: I would just like to say, in the final notes here, that formatting is my bitch! My technical incompetence has been overcome. (For now…) Spacing is fixed. Sorry for any brief confusion that may have been caused.


	5. 4 Falling to Pieces

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am in any way affiliated with the people, places, etc. of the HP universe, nor do I believe I will be any time in the near future. Sadly.

Perfection

Chapter 4: Falling to Pieces

He had watched the four girls at their table as they giggled and drank sips of coffee for some time now, envying the ease of their existence. After a while of observation he began to notice a pattern. The two blonde girls would make a joke, then the shy- looking brown-haired one would smile quietly, and laugh softly, while the Granger girl barely made an effort, past a polite smile.

Even from his corner, he could tell that she was bored. She alternated between playing with strands of her hair and staring into her mug of coffee. Every so often she would add in a comment or ask the other brunette a question, but he couldn't hear what was said.

"He didn't!" the prettier of the blondes gasped, raising her voice enough that he could comprehend.

"I know. Isn't it sick!"

"Dirtier than something you could come up with, Sarah."

Severus wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were talking about. Instead of dwelling on it, he observed as they set down coffee mugs and utensils, noticing how the dark-haired girl waited to see what they did before doing something herself. When the Granger girl stood, she clutched at the back of her chair for a moment before her legs gave out and she collapsed in a heap.

The girl called Sarah shrieked, and he leapt to his feet, almost unconsciously, concern etched on his face.

* * *

Darkness sparkled at the corners of her eyes as the blood rushed from her head, and she rested her hand on the chair, waiting for the blackout to pass. The next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground, with someone screeching something. Cool hands cupped her face, and she flinched away.

"Don't fucking touch me!" There was a hysterical edge to her voice that she couldn't control, but things couldn't have been clearer in her mind.

"Miss Granger, were the circumstances different, I would obey gladly, but as they are not, I strongly advise—"

Hermione visibly jumped as the voice registered, and looked up through the tangle of hair as his features slid into focus. "Excuse me, sir," she said in a voice that could have cut through stone as if it were sponge cake.

"Do you, like, know him?" Sandra asked, her tone carrying a hint of surprise.

_I always talk to complete strangers like this. _

"No shit, Sandra," Jean snapped. Apparently Hermione wasn't the only one getting annoyed.

"Well, you don't have to be rude about it," Sarah barked. "It was just a question."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Jean, making sure that the other two couldn't see, and the other girl suppressed a smile.

"Sorry."

"As fascinating as my relationship with Miss Granger might be, there are more important matters to be discussed."

"I'm all right," she insisted. "It was just a dizzy spell."

"Which could lead to something more serious," he replied, just as stubborn.

"He's right," Sarah added, seeming almost relieved.

"_I'm fine._"

"You should rest," Sandra told her, while Hermione silently decided to enroll her in acting lessons as a Christmas gift. "Go home, sleep, you don't want to be sick on Christmas."

Why not give them what they wanted? It didn't matter what they thought of her, anyway. She would probably never see them again. At least that was what she tried to tell herself.

But it didn't stop the sting of rejection.

"I would," she said tonelessly, "except I have no way of getting there."

There was a silence for a second, then Sarah said, happy at finding a way out, "You can take her, can't you?" to Professor Snape.

He looked positively stunned, which could be why he made no move to object as Sandra agreed, and they rushed out the door, Jean the only one to send an apologetic look her way. Sighing in resignation, he held out a hand to help her up, and she swayed slightly, before walking over to the cashier.

"I need something to go," she apologized over her shoulder, "to wash the taste out of my mouth."

He smiled grimly in agreement.

* * *

Ginny stared out the window of her dormitory at the freshly fallen snow, bored almost to tears. Ron was being stupid, as usual, Harry was, once again blaming himself for another wizard's death at the hands of Voldemort, and she had run out of things to do yesterday afternoon.

She was moping and she knew it, but that knowledge didn't make the lump in the back of her throat go away.

_Come on, _she told herself. _It's not like he's the first guy you've ever broken up with._

_Yeah, _a tiny voice argued, _but he's the only one that lasted for more than a month. He's the only one you really liked._

Sighing, she stood, planning vaguely on a walk outside. She didn't feel like arguing herself, since she always seemed to lose.

Ten minutes later found her sitting on a log beside the lake, staring out at the gray sky blankly. Something about the day was reminding her of the events of her first year, the basilisk, Tom Riddle, all of it. She had tried so hard to forget, and for a while, she had succeeded, but since Voldemort's return, memories had been returning, long suppressed.

For a moment, she was back in the chamber, hearing the hiss of his voice, inside her, all around her, the terrible things he whispered to her, echoing in her eleven year old mind. She didn't want to believe them, but she knew deep within herself that every word he said about her was true…

She opened her eyes, and was surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears.

"Crying about your lot in life, Weasley?" a cold voice asked.

"Only because I saw your face," she retorted, turning to face him.

"So original."

There was a fading bruise around one eye, and had it been anyone else, she might have been concerned. It seemed someone had set about the impossible task of knocking some sense into him.

"Thought you were going home for holidays," she commented, "or are your parents already sick of you?"

"Something like that."

But for a moment, she could have sworn she saw a shadow cross his face.

"Are you going to keep standing there like an idiot, or would you kindly leave?" Ginny asked, feigning politeness.

"Neither," Draco replied, flashing a charming smile and sitting down on a log.

"Then I'll go."

"Kindly do. Don't need the Weasley stench fouling up the air."

"You must be a medical miracle," she commented, making no move to leave. "I didn't know it was physically possible for a person's head to fit up their ass."

"Thus the point of magic."

Standing, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and stalked away, ignoring the prickle of his stare on the back of her neck.

* * *

Hermione walked beside her teacher, struggling to keep up. It took two of her strides to match up with one of his, and she was feeling stretched and exhausted.

"Hang on," she said, pausing for a moment. "I'm not feeling well."

"My apologies," he returned, a touch of sarcasm accenting his voice. "I had forgotten your delicate state."

"Fuck you too," she sneered elegantly.

"You know, it rather shocks me to hear the prefect and almost certainly future Head Girl using such profanity," he replied, still sardonic.

"I know, amazing what one learns from one's parents, isn't it?"

There was a hidden meaning in her voice, one he couldn't quite place… Something bitter, almost.

"Shocked, Snape?" she snapped, beginning to walk again.

"Miss Granger," he reminded her, "despite the current circumstances, I would like to remind you that I am still your professor and respect is in order."

"Respect is earned," she retorted, keeping her head positioned so that he couldn't see her expression. "For the last six years of my life, you were nothing but a greasy bastard, so consumed with himself and his house that you never saw past the end of your nose at the possible talent in the other houses."

"May I remind you that arrogance is not among the virtues?"

"I wasn't referring to myself, _sir_. You know, Neville did show some promise for the first week, until you scared the shit out of him. So did several others as I recall."

"Pardon ones faults."

"Only if you do me a favor."

He sighed in resignation. "What?"

"Don't take me home."

"Why?"

"Don't ask," she replied, tone icier than arctic winds. "It's a waste of breath."

He glanced sideways at her, just in time to see her face before a wall slid across her eyes. He wasn't sure if she had said anything or if he had imagined it. The wind had whipped the words away before they could be understood fully.

Hermione didn't want to go home, not to the memories, the echoes of shrieked words, hurled like bullets at each other, intending to wound. She didn't want to go home, where the food could tempt her so easily, make her impure, ruin all her hopes of perfection. She wanted to distance herself from that life, didn't want Snape, of all people, to see that side of her.

Silently, she pleaded to him. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Maybe he sensed some sort of desperation in her, or maybe he simply wasn't the bastard they had made him out to be. Maybe she would never know what caused him to say his next words.

"So, if you don't want to go home, where would you like to go?"

* * *

Agrippa had to force herself to not drill a hole in her patient's head. She wanted to throw something, smash it, wrap her hands around someone's—Steve's, specifically—neck and squeeze.

He was going on a "business trip" to France for a week once Christmas holidays were over.

She had just received the phone call, and what _really _pissed her off was the fact that it had been his receptionist on the phone. He couldn't even be bothered to make a simple phone call to his _wife, _dammit. She wheeled around to the balding, middle aged man who was waiting for his check-up with the rage that was burning just under the surface reflecting in her eyes.

_I don't envy you_, she thought wryly, snapping her gloves with a grimace.

But somehow, she managed to get through the morning, calmly administering fillings and performing check-ups for people who had no idea of the turmoil in her mind. By her lunch break, she felt like her face was permanently frozen into a would-be cheerful smile and her chest was about to implode from the sense of emptiness within her.

Yes, Agrippa Granger still cared about her husband, despite everything he had put her through. And as she ordered her food in the nearby café, she contemplated the situation, considering the irony that she had once enjoyed watching soap operas, and now felt like she was in the midst of one.

Sipping from a cup of organic herbal green tea imported from china—she never allowed any _impurities _into her system—she eavesdropped on the conversation taking place behind her.

"It got to the point where all I wanted was to get _out_. I know I should have fought for more money, but I never wanted to see him again. Or I couldn't let myself, because I knew that the more I saw him, the more I wanted things to be the way they used to be…"

"But after all he did… God, Andrea, you should be glad you got out in one piece."

"I _know _that, but I can't help thinking, if only I had tried a little harder…"

"Don't worry about. It's over, done with, you did what you needed to do. Really, you don't want to stay married to someone like that."

"I know…" The woman sighed. Suddenly, she gasped, "Oh, shit, I have to go pick a delivery right away! Do you mind paying if I pay you back?"

"Course not. Take care."

"Yeah, you too."

The two women left, and Agrippa tried to forget their conversation. There were some realities that she wasn't quite ready to face.

* * *

A few hours and another coffee shop of awkward silences later, Hermione again walked beside Snape, fighting to keep up. She was beginning to feel like she was a burden, knew that he probably didn't want to be spending his day baby-sitting a sixteen year old girl who wasn't worth the effort. Guilt was settling in, and although she didn't particularly like him, she still felt badly.

"Professor," she said, pausing. "It's okay, I can go from here."

"Don't be ridiculous," he barked, turning. "What makes you think it's safe? Besides, you collapsed barely an hour ago. It isn't exactly smart to leave you alone in the middle of London."

"I'm feeling better," she lied. "Anyway, I have my wand. What could happen to me?"

He scowled and pulled her into a doorway so that they would stop blocking the walkway. "Plenty. Or do you think that Death Eaters wouldn't find a mudblood girl all alone with no protection enticing?"

She felt herself stiffen. "What did you just call me?"

Her hand caught him on the cheek before he could even see it coming, leaving stinging sensation.

"Never say that word when I'm around again, or I'll do worse than that," she hissed at him.

How dare he, the bastard?

"Miss Granger, I am trying to protect you."

"I don't need protection, yours or otherwise. I can take care of myself."

She turned and began walking toward the road, looking for a taxi that she could signal, but as luck would have it, none were in sight. She heard his footsteps behind her, but didn't turn her head.

Severus felt bad about what he had said, really he did. Being in Slytherin had frequently placed him on the wrong side of contempt, and although now he always ignored what he didn't want to hear, he could remember being younger and feeling the sting.

Her anger was almost, well, admirable. It made her toss her hair out of her eyes, gave her a spark that was rarely present anymore, it seemed. Not that he could comment on that.

"Miss Granger, _listen._"

_If you had seen what I had, you wouldn't be this stubborn. If you knew what I know, you wouldn't walk away from the chance to be protected._

Or would she? Wasn't there a saying along the lines of, _Better to die free than live imprisoned_? Wasn't this the same thing?

_I don't need protection, yours or otherwise…_

It was more like saying she didn't _want _the protection, she knew that she needed it.

"What is there to hear that isn't already being said?" she countered after a long pause.

He took a deep breath. Apologies didn't come naturally to him, but he needed her to listen. "I'm very sorry for what I said. I can absolutely not let you go off on your own. All I need to know is that you have made it home safely."

She sucked in a lungful of air, and he could imagine just what she was thinking.

In a rare display of humour, he added, "If you ever repeat this conversation to anyone you will be cleaning cauldrons for years after you graduate."

She glanced up in slight surprise, allowing a faint smile to cross her face.

"Then take me home."

"I thought that it was the last place you wanted to go."

Not that he wanted to spend more time with her than necessary, but he felt that he owed her, for whatever odd combination of reasons that were mixing in the pit of his stomach.

"It is. But I don't want you to waste your day on my account."

"I have no plans," he replied. It wasn't like coming to London had been his idea in the first place.

"Oh, well there has to be something you would rather do than walk around with a Gryffindor know-it-all for a day. Don't go out of your way on my account."

_Oh, yeah, big plans_, a voice in the back of his head taunted. _Mope around in a hotel room, trying to stop the thoughts from coming. Sitting in coffee shops, watching other people get on with their lives while I have to live with what's in my head first. The best time I've ever had._

"Don't trouble yourself, Miss Granger," he told her. "Wherever you want to go, I will take you."

He was cracking and desperate, he knew, when an afternoon with Hermione Granger seemed enticing.

"Is the next galaxy over included in that?" she muttered so quietly that he wasn't sure he had heard correctly. Severus chose to ignore that comment. Louder, to him, she asked, "I think I should just go home. I don't know how close attention my parents were paying when I told them I was going somewhere."

He placed his hand on her shoulder and they disappeared.

The world stopped spinning and Hermione found herself in the kitchen, stomach lurching dangerously.

"Thanks for letting me know ahead of time," she muttered.

"Don't worry, it wears off soon."

She sank into a chair and watched him take in their surroundings, as well as the other stately buildings on the street. He looked like he wanted to say something, but held back.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, expressionless. "Poor little rich girl."

"I didn't say that," he protested, wondering why his snarkiness had abandoned him.

"You don't have to. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Tea, if it isn't too much trouble."

She had just begun to boil the water when a car door slamming broke the silence. They could hear a woman screaming something, and when Hermione glanced out the window, she could see Agrippa yelling into a cell phone, stalking up the walkway.

Her face closed. "Get out of here," she ordered.

"Wh—"

"Don't ask questions, just go. Trust me, you don't want to be here."

There was a small pop as he apparated, leaving Hermione alone and with a strong sense of desertion.

* * *

Agrippa stormed into the house, ignoring her daughter who was standing in the hall, face gaunt and worried. She didn't want to have to worry about her right then, she needed to sink into her own problems, her own life.

She brushed past Hermione and pounded up the stairs, shaking the house with each step for emphasis. Only once she was safely locked into the bedroom did she let the tears come. She curled up on the bed, denting the down featherbed covering it and hugged her chest, trying to muffle the sobs, praying that something would make it all end.

She remembered when she was a little girl, lying on her parents' bed as her mother sprayed perfume on herself, getting ready for dinner parties or dances. Sometimes, when neither of them were home, she would sneak into their room and put on pearl necklaces and silk scarves, adding color to her lips and cheeks with lipstick and powder.

She had always been closer to her father than her mother. He was more easy-going and would pull her onto his lap and whisper stories in her ear as she fell asleep. He was the one she ran to when she skinned her knee or had a bad day at school. Her mother's reply to a complaint had always been, "You can't always get what you want."

Well, fifteen, even ten, years ago, she had thought she had everything she wanted. A loving husband, beautiful daughter, secure home, and a successful career. But that was when it all began to crumble.

The more successful she became, the more resentful and jealous Steve was, but still they managed to remain civil, caring even. When Hermione had been sent away to school, it had turned out to be the beginning of the end. While she had remained at home, they had had a reason not to be constantly at each other's throats, but once she left, the fighting became louder and more frequent as time grew on, until it became almost habit.

Yet still she loved him, needed him, even. And still she held onto the fragile ties of what their marriage had once been.

The indifference hurt more than a thousand words could possibly. Hours later, when she was curled up in her bed, watching the moon through her window, the scene still played through her mind, with the sound of indecipherable shrieking as from downstairs as the background music.

* * *

What had she done wrong?

Burrowing her head under the pillow to drown out the noise, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come and claim her. But one face seemed plastered to the inside of her eyelids, frozen in one position. The face of Severus Snape, giving her a last, concerned glance before leaving her to her fate.

A face, normally cold and empty, but now human.

It was a thought that caused a smile to play across her face as she drifted into darkness.

* * *

Ginny woke up to a scream, and lay in the dark for a few moments before realizing that it had been her own. Fragments were all that remained of the dream, of which she was glad. Because what she could remember frightened her.

Knowing that sleep would continue to evade her, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and padded across the flagstones and down the stairs to the common room. Staring into the glowing embers was another figure, one that she recognized only too well.

"Harry?" she whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence hanging over the castle.

He grunted in reply. She could tell that he was lost in thought.

"Are you all right?" she pressed, furrowing her brows.

"Another family died today," he commented blankly. "It was all my fault."

Ginny's breath caught in her throat. "How so? It's Voldemort, not some idiot who is going to let a sixteen year old ruin all of his plans."

He snorted softly and Ginny knelt in front of him, meeting his gaze.

"Trust me, you did everything you could. I know you, Harry, and if there was any more you could have done you would have already done it."

Harry shook his head, anger clouding his eyes. "No, don't you see? That's what everyone tells me! But they're all lying because I'm The Boy Who Lived or they feel sorry for me! But they don't really care! They only want me to defeat Voldemort a second time, they don't care if I die doing it."

She studied Harry, and an embarrassing urge to let the tears spill out filled her. Once upon a time, she had a crush on him, call it puppy love. It hadn't taken her long to realize that it wasn't real, that there was nothing especially wonderful about him. She still cared, but only as a friend. Except, now it seemed that he wanted something more from her, something she wasn't ready and didn't know how to give.

"Harry, listen. There are people who care about you. You aren't any different from us. You make mistakes, sure, but who doesn't? And we still love you for it. Just because you think it was your fault, doesn't mean that we do. Nobody is blaming you, except yourself."

"Thanks Ginny, you really know how to lower my ego," he replied dryly.

"That's what I'm here for," she grinned. "You really need to sleep."

"And you don't?" he retorted.

"I'm not the one who stays up every night wallowing in self-pity."

Ginny instantly realized that she had said too much as soon as the sentence tumbled from her lips.

"Is that what you call it?" Harry asked, looking injured and angry.

"Yes. Now go to bed. And don't forget…" she almost swallowed her next words. What if he took them the wrong way?

"Yeah?"

"I'm here for you. Always."

"I knew you would be."

As he walked away, Ginny wondered if she had imagined the seemingly smug tone in his voice.

* * *

The car door slammed shut behind Hermione and she didn't look back as her mother drove away, but she could hear her shrieking curses at the other drivers. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and "getting to know her cousin" wasn't exactly her idea of a fun time. Really, the only reason she had agreed to come was because she knew that Snape was staying at the same hotel, and there was a part of her that wanted to see him again, if only to apologize for yesterday.

She trudged through the lobby, not letting herself admit that she was watching for him, feeling her stomach rise whenever she saw someone out of the corner of her eye then sinking as soon as she turned her head. She stepped into the glass elevator and looked down on the dining room as it carried her up to almost the very top.

When she exited, the sound that met her ears was all too familiar. She recognized her uncle's voice as a deep rumble, echoing down the hall. She froze, trying to decide whether to turn and run.

Squaring her shoulders, she decided that it wouldn't accomplish anything. Running from problems never solved them. And it wasn't like they fought all the time like… like…

She stepped toward the hotel, ignoring the feeling of imminent doom, the way a tiny heart pounded in her temple.

The door was open partway, and she pushed it open enough to slip through.

"Hello?" she called out, hating the way her voice sounded so pathetic and weak, even to her own ears.

* * *

Ginny opened her eyes, surprised to find herself in the Common Room. Yawning, she stood up and rubbed her eyes, then, ignoring the fact she was still in her pyjamas, made her way down to the great hall. Taking a slight detour, she walked along the way past the girl's washrooms where Moaning Myrtle still lived, wondering why she constantly tortured herself by bringing back the memories.

Perhaps it was her penance for weakness, perhaps it was because she never wanted to be so foolish again, she wasn't sure. But she knew that she could never let go of the Chamber; it had haunted her for five years, and it would never leave her. It didn't soothe her to know that the basilisk was dead—it hadn't been the _real _horror there.

_Remember me, little Ginny Weasley?_

She fought back a scream at the voice only she could hear. The voice that had been in her mind every time she had written in the diary, unforgettable.

_Yes, it's me. You've grown since then, in size as well as power, as have I. Yes, I'm back. You helped me, Ginny, whether you wanted to or not, and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…_

_I don't want rewards, _Ginny thought desperately. _I don't want anything from him, except for him to go, to leave me alone, to erase himself from existence._

_That I will not do, _the voice hissed. _But think about it. Think of what I could give you, the status, the power. Much more than what any Weasley has achieved so far…_

He faded from her mind and she sank down against the wall, clutching her arms so they would stop shaking, capable of one single, rational thought.

He wants me… I don't know why, but for some reason or the other he wants me… 

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

Ginny screamed at the sound of the voice. She couldn't help it- it was simply torn from her lungs.

"Jumpy, today, aren't we?"

He stepped towards her, and she flinched.

"Don't come any closer or I'll—"

"What?" he asked smugly.

"Fuck you!" she shrieked out, losing what little control she had held onto.

"Excellent idea… Not everyday a woman offers herself for free."

"Get away from me!" Her voice was screeching, eyes wild, and she was shaking once again.

"Relax," he tried to assure her, starting to look genuinely alarmed. "I was only joking. I won't touch you…"

He looked panicked and it was no wonder why. It wasn't everyday you got to watch someone crack.

Tears began rolling down her face, which was unnaturally pale, and she closed her eyes, trying to take calming breaths.

"God, Weasley, are you all right?"

"I thought I told you to get away from me!"

"I don't take orders very well," he commented cheerfully, "in case you haven't noticed."

She wondered if that was how he had received the bruise.

Ron and Harry chose that moment to stroll around the corner. It took him about two seconds for the scene to register, Ginny's tear-stained face and Draco standing over her, and they heard an enraged roar.

"Malfoy, get away from my sister!"

"I didn't do any—"

"Get away from her!"

"Ron, he didn't—"

"Get away!"

For once, Draco decided to follow a Weasley's order, and he ambled away nonchalantly, ignoring the daggers Harry was glaring at him.

"What did he do?" Ron asked, leaning over his Ginny.

"Ron, I swear, he didn't do anything…"

Harry snorted quietly in disgust. "Ginny, what did he say to you? He must have said something to make you so upset."

"It has _nothing _to do with him," she insisted, not completely sure why she didn't just come right out and tell them.

"Gin, come on. We aren't stupid," Ron pressed.

"Well, apparently you are!" she snapped. "I think I know why I'm upset a bit better than you, and it's _none of your damn business!"_

"Ginny!" Ron called out as she brushed past him. Then, once she was out of sight, he turned to Harry and asked, "What was that about?"

* * *

She flew between them, screaming something even she couldn't understand, wanting it all to stop.

"Don't push me!" the red-faced man bellowed at her.

She knew that he didn't care who he hurt, what the consequences were. His thoughts were blinded by the rage. Yet still some strong part of her welled up, giving her courage, giving her adrenaline.

"Why?"

Such a simple question. It deserved a simple answer. He lunged at her, rage contorting his features, hands landing on her throat.

Everything was spinning. The woman hunched on the floor was sobbing. The boy beside her was shrieking something incoherently. She could no longer breathe. She was going to die here, without the air sustaining her, murdered.

Something inside of her exploded and he flew back against the wall. She clutched the boy's arm, and they ran, sprinting away into the corridor. Fear gave her the strength to pull him behind her, make him move.

They rounded the corner and hit something hard. The last thing she saw before blackness claimed her was a distorted face as strong arms caught her.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes, to find herself on a couch in a hotel room, with two blurry faces peering down at her. She blinked and they slowly came into focus, until she could recognize her cousin and... Professor Snape? What was he doing here?

She tried to sit up, but winced at the throbbing in her head and sank back down gratefully.

"Are you all right?" Was that concern she heard in his voice?

"I'm wonderful," she replied sarcastically, "which explains why I'm lying on your couch with a migraine."

"Charming, as always," he retorted, placing cool fingers on her forehead. The throbbing eased.

"Whatever you just did worked," she told him. "I can at least think straight now."

"Miss Granger, all I did was check to see if you had a fever."

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Then, remembering Arthur, she ordered, "Look after him first. If anyone's hurt here, it's him."

Just because she didn't necessarily like him didn't mean she wasn't worried. A bruise was forming near his left eyebrow, and he flinched away from Professor Snape as he pulled out his wand.

"You might want to wipe his memory after, too," she added.

"I know that, you silly girl. You forget who is the more experienced of us."

"Of course, professor," she replied meekly.

Once he had finished, Arthur disappeared, and Hermione found herself wishing that he could erase her memories as well.

"Now, Miss Granger," he began, turning to face her. "I believe that we should allow Madam Pomfrey to have a look at you."

"There's nothing wrong with me!" she interrupted, almost too quickly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Miss Granger, do you think that I haven't noticed how dangerously low your magical reserves are? What you used down the hall on your uncle—yes, I know about that—should not have tired you, certainly not to the extent of losing consciousness."

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I don't need anyone analyzing me."

If they found out... Hermione didn't think she could bear it. If she accidentally let slip about her parents, her fears, her entire existence, they would despise her. There was no way that they couldn't. Not once they knew how horrible she was. Especially once they realized that it was all her fault.

There was only one thing she could control now.

"Miss Granger..." His entreaty was met with a stone-cold gaze. Briskly, he announced, "She's coming whether you want her too or not. You can't faint twice and still tell me that you're fine."

* * *

When Ginny was restless, there was only one thing that managed to soothe her. Right now, Ginny was more than restless. She was fidgety, waspish, and desperate to escape from the smothering atmosphere of the castle. So, without telling anyone where she was going—a habit left over from the days when she hadn't wanted anyone to laugh at her—she went out to the shed of Quidditch supplies and grabbed her broom and a bat, releasing a bludger once she was outside.

Taking off, she chased after it, whacking it with all her strength whenever it flew too near, not stopping even when sweat dripped in her eyes, blinding her vision temporarily.

"God, Weasley, do you ever stop?"

The voice broke her concentration and she whirled to see Draco hovering a few feet away.

"I didn't know you were a beater too," he added, raising an eyebrow.

"I play everything," she told him, cocking her head. "Harry just doesn't know that yet."

Which was the truth—she'd been desperate to make the team last year and if it meant hitting rock-like balls around, she was prepared to do it.

"Put the bludger away," he suggested, procuring a small golden ball from his pockets. "I'm thinking rematch."

She shrugged nonchalantly, not giving away the fact that her blood was racing at the challenge.

"Sounds good."

Ten minutes later found them tearing around the pitch, by which time Ginny had completely forgotten everything else except this state of bliss.


	6. 5 Discovery

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, the song "Seven Years" is from Norah Jones' album "Come Away With Me," "Star Trek" belongs to the Klingons and (correct me if I'm wrong) Gene Rodenberry, the movie "The Princess Bride," which I love, is owned by MGM studios, and the poem excerpt is from "The Lady of Shallot" by Tennyson.

A/N: So, I was driving with my sexy, semi-British boyfriend (if you're reading this, don't kill me...) a while back with Norah Jones in the CD player and the sunroof open and "Seven Years" started playing... I had forgotten how much I love that song and hearing it like that, making myself dizzy by staring up at the sky caught me and made me really glad that I hadn't cut it from the rewrite... Wow, that was cheesy... Sorry about that. (It didn't feel so cheesy at the time, if that helps...)

_Spinning, laughing, dancing to her favorite song_

_A little girl with nothing wrong _

_Is all alone_

_Eyes wide open_

_Always hoping for the sun_

_And she'll sing her song to anyone _

_That comes along_

_Fragile as a leaf in autumn_

_Just falling to the ground_

_Without a sound_

_Crooked little smile on her face_

_Tells a tale of grace_

_That's all her own_

_Spinning, laughing, dancing to her favorite song_

_A little girl with nothing wrong _

_And she's all alone_

_Seven Years, _Norah Jones

Perfection

Chapter 5: Discovery

Poppy apparated into the doorway, clucking as she saw the girl reclining on the sofa.

"What have you done to her, Severus?"

"Me? Excuse me," he retorted, "but I was the one that dragged her in here so that she wouldn't be lying in the hallway."

She arched an eyebrow. "A little defensive today, aren't we?"

He smirked. "Anyway, it's the second time recently, in my presence. Her magical reserves are dangerously low, so I thought you might want to know."

"Nice to know that common sense doesn't always escape you."

"You know, it isn't polite to talk about people like they aren't there," Hermione commented.

"Kept your tongue, I see," he shot back. "Of course telling people to fuck off isn't exactly common courtesy either."

"Go screw yourself."

He sneered elegantly, noting with amusement Poppy's more than slight shock. Turning to the nurse, he asked, "Is this females only, or do I get to stay in _my _hotel room?"

"Females only."

Looking irritated, he stormed out, muttering.

Poppy clapped her hands and smiled at Hermione. "Do you always keep such bad company?"

"Meeting him was a complete accident, believe me," she replied hastily.

"A bit annoying, isn't he?" Madam Pomfrey commented, a tad too cheerfully. "Now, let's see what's wrong with you, because I'm sure that you would like to go home."

Hermione made a contradictory sound under her breath, which the nurse either chose to ignore or didn't hear at all.

* * *

Severus sat impatiently in a chair in the lounge, tired of pacing. It was one of those nervous habits that was impossible to break, no matter how often he told himself that it was a waste of time and restless energy that could be better spent elsewhere.

He didn't know why he was so worried about her. She was nothing more than a thoroughly annoying student who was too eager and inquisitive for her own good.

Except—not recently… Now that he thought about it, since she had begun her sixth year at Hogwarts, her questions had been minimal and answering questions was involuntary. His mind leapt back to the woman screeching into the cell phone as she entered the house and Hermione urgently telling him to get out.

Could that have something to do with it?

He didn't know and wasn't sure if he really wanted to. Not if it was another mess to become tangled in.

* * *

It was almost Christmas, and Ginny had never felt so utterly alone. Since her outbreak, everyone had either avoided her or been irritatingly nice, and she hated it. She felt like everyone she saw knew, like everything was scrawled across her face for the world to see. So, seeking refuge, she had come back to the lake.

The wind whipped her hair in auburn ribbons, cutting through her skin and sending shivers down her spine while sleet streaked by her, entangling itself in her clothes. She loved it. It seemed like the weather was the only thing that had been honest with her all day.

Emotion filling her, she scooped up a handful of pebbles and threw them as hard as she could into the miniature breakers, causing a shower of stones.

There was something timeless about standing on the lakeshore amidst the storm. She was sure that pagans in ancient times, priestesses of Avalon, sorcerers had done it as well.

Ginny smiled at the thought. Ever since Hermione had lent her the book about the legend of King Arthur that first summer she had stayed with them, she had been in love with it. She had ignored the note at the beginning stating that there was nothing to prove that the stories were more than a traveling bard's ballad as the characters became real in her mind.

It was the only muggle literature she had managed to make it through.

Hermione had laughed at her, then tried to pile on more books—Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Emily Bronte. Ginny had tossed them back at her and asked for more Camelot. After holidays, Hermione brought back with her an entire trunk filled with different versions and a poetry anthology. Ginny had grinned and said that she didn't want any more of the "classics" that had been so dull.

Instead, her friend had opened it to a page where the title read "The Lady of Shallot" and remarked that this one was different. Now, the poem came back to her, long ago memorized from constant rereading.

_Willows whiten, aspens quiver_

_Little breezes dusk and shiver_

_Thro' the wave that runs forever_

_By the island in the river_

_Flowing down to Camelot_

_Four gray walls and four gray towers_

_Overlook a space of flowers_

_And the silent isle embowers_

_The Lady of Shallot_

_This is my island, my tower, _Ginny thought, staring out at the lake.

The wind began to pick up, whipping feeling back into her frozen muscles.

_My fortress, and no one is going to break me down and draw me out to my death._

She stood there, for how long she wasn't sure, remaining totally unaware of the fact that she was being watched.

* * *

Harry kept his eyes focused on Ginny, never allowing his attention to waver. He had promised Ron to keep an eye on her, even though she was steadfastly ignoring both of them. What really angered him, though, was the way that she had greeted Malfoy at breakfast that morning, especially when she hadn't even said hello to him.

He refused to consider that maybe the blonde bastard wasn't behind everything. The idea was too ridiculous to entertain.

* * *

Severus re-entered his room an hour later and wanted to turn and run at the grim look on Poppy's face. But he'd always been too thick to bolt, all the way back to when he was seventeen and at his first Death Eater meeting, so he opened the tiny refrigerator in the kitchenette and removed a can of beer, having the feeling he would need it. As he popped it open, it was removed from his hand.

"Alcohol damages your liver," the nurse reprimanded, before gulping it down in one go.

Severus could only stare. How bad was it?

"I think your liver is slightly more at risk than mine at the moment," he finally commented acidly, when nothing else came to mind.

"I've got the ministry hounding me, trying to find a cure for the mental effects of the Cruciatus Curse because I'm the strongest medi-witch in Europe. More and more tortured people are being sent to me because they need to be treated. It was better when it was only Avada Kedavra—that way they didn't die after days of agony. It was over. And now I watch people destroying themselves more than the Dark Lord could ever do every day of my life." Her voice and hands shook slightly, although her eyes remained frighteningly calm. "I don't give a damn about my liver."

He made a questioning sound in his throat.

"She's been living off of her magic. That's why her reserves are so low. She hasn't had a decent meal since the beginning of summer holidays."

"But I saw her eating a—"

"How empty-headed are you?" she exploded. "Does 'bulimia' mean anything?"

Hermione chose that moment to step out of the washroom. Except this was a very different Hermione—her make-up was gone, and he could see why she would wear it. Her eyes were hollowed out, as were her cheeks, making her look almost skeletal. And now that she was no longer wearing the over-sized hoodie, he could see how small her frame really was. She looked so… fragile. And sad. The circles under her eyes only added to that, giving her a strange beauty. But at the same time it was frightening, sickening that she had done that to herself.

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, then lifted her chin proudly, saying, "My parents aren't coming for me until morning. They have to do some last minute shopping."

He continued to stare blankly.

"I don't particularly cherish the idea of staying with my relatives and I doubt my mother or father would be overjoyed to drive across London to pick me up," she added, as the silence became oppressive.

"Well, then," Severus commented after a moment of uncomfortable shifting, "the only logical thing would be for you to stay here."

Poppy raised an eyebrow.

"For heaven's sake!" he cried out, annoyed and slightly flustered. "I wasn't _suggesting_ anything! I'm not a bloody pedophile!"

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand as the nurse back-handed him lightly. "I don't see why not. I could sleep on the couch or the floor or something and my parents won't know…" she paused before adding, "or care."

"Of course they care," Madam Pomfrey put in.

Hermione chose not to answer, only laughed bitterly.

Poppy winced. "Well, if neither of you object, I don't see why not."

* * *

"Dr. Granger, you have a patient waiting."

Agrippa turned to look at her secretary. "Just give me a minute. That's all I need."

_Oh, if only…_ she thought, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. 

"Dr. Granger, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, perfectly," she lied. "It's just that nasty flu that's going around."

"Would you like me to cancel the rest of you appointments for the day?"

"Yes, thank you. My stomach is a little upset. It wouldn't do for me to vomit on a patient, would it?"

The other woman ambled out of the room, and Agrippa sighed, then pulled herself together. She couldn't let herself be miserable for Christmas. She owed her daughter that much.

Scooping up her car keys and pulling on her coat, she stalked out, remembering to make herself look run-down and wan. Not that she really needed to try.

Hermione couldn't believe it. _Bulimia. _It was a harsh word. So unforgiving. It was also what she had.

_Why? _she wondered. It wasn't like pneumonia or the flu. It wasn't contagious. It wasn't like one of those genetic diseases that you got from your parents that you couldn't control.

But thinking about it, she realized how obvious it must have been. No one had ever seen her eating at school, when she did, it was a mad race to the nearest toilet. Someone must have noticed something. Her mother, Harry, Ron, anyone… Faint rage filled her at the harsh discovery that no one had..

No wonder she was always so exhausted after class. She was using magic that she needed for survival.

She glanced over at her professor and realized that she had to start somewhere.

"Do you mind ordering in room service?" she asked. "I'd like something to eat. I'll pay you back if you like."

Ten minutes later, when a steaming Styrofoam box sat before her with a single slice of garlic toast, she regretted it. Mentally, she calculated the calories that would be consumed, wincing. Then she thought of the stories in the news about girls dying of eating disorders, and felt sick at the idea that she might become one of them. She wouldn't have an identity anymore. She would simply become one of hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of anorexic people who couldn't or wouldn't change.

Sucking in a breath of air, she raised the fork to her mouth. Paused. Then bit down and chewed.

With each passing second it was easier, the flavour kissed her mouth and warmed her throat as she swallowed.

Closing her eyes, she thought, _Maybe_ _it's true what the say. That it's all in the mind. If you can believe something then it's possible._

Except for her parents, something reminded her. No matter how much she told herself that it would be all right, the fighting never stopped.

The bread went stale in her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow anyway, battling nausea.

* * *

Severus stared at the girl curled up on his couch with her back to him. Part of him felt disgusted with her, with what she had done. But that part of him was rapidly disappearing as he realised that self-destruction was self-destruction, no matter what form it took, and gradually he felt himself reaching out with his eyes. As if sensing his gaze she shifted uncomfortably and settled against the armrest.

Lord, the silence was so loud it was practically deafening.

"Turn on the TV," she ordered finally.

He stared at her blankly.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she exclaimed. "That screen right there isn't a muggle art form."

She picked up the remote and flicked it on. He stared at the listings rolling across the screen and raised an eyebrow. _This _was entertainment?

"Oh! _The Princess Bride _is on!" she cried as a man and woman walking through a forest appeared on the television.

"What about the ROUS's?"

"Rodents of unusual size? I don't think they exist."

As he spoke, a large _thing _flew across the screen bowling the man over. Severus squinted at the screen in mortification, then glanced at Hermione in surprise as she giggled.

"How is that funny?" he asked, trying to keep the shock out of his voice.

She shook her head, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Anyone who's seen this before wouldn't take it seriously. It's comedy."

He shrugged and asked, "Is there nothing else to watch?"

"There is," she replied, "but I'm not watching it and since I have the remote you have to watch what I want. Now shut up. We didn't miss Miracle Max."

* * *

If it was physically possible, Agrippa's blood would be boiling. A simple goddamn request was transforming into possibly the worst argument yet. They were shrieking like toddlers over a favorite toy.

"All I'm asking is a pleasant, _civil, _Christmas. It isn't entirely unreasonable!"

"I'm trying, but you keep starting things!" he replied, his bellow shaking the house.

"_I _start things? Excuse me, I don't stagger in at three in the morning or run around with whores every night of the week!"

"What's it to you?"

"Oh, pardon me, am I out of line again?" she barked. "I'm asking this because I don't want our daughter to watch us fight on Christmas."

He looked at her blankly for a moment.

"Yes, our daughter. Remember? Sixteen years ago we reproduced." The sarcasm dripped off of ever word.

"Don't drag her into this!"

"Why not? You drag in arguments we had twenty years ago, just for the sake of pissing me off. At least I have a valid reason for asking this!"

He spun around and slammed a hand on the counter. "Fine," he muttered. "A civil Christmas."

Another point on her side of the tally.

* * *

Watching the movie reminded her of things that had happened so long ago. Happier times, before the walls shook from yells, before eating disorders and anger. Things long forgotten in the turmoil of the present.

_She is sitting on the kitchen table, watching her parents swing dance to Big Band, sipping from a glass of orange juice. 'Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree' is playing and she hums along. The song ends and Mummy and Daddy collapse into their chairs laughing. Another song begins, a slower one now, and she hops up and starts twirling to it, giggling at the way her head spins. Daddy stands and begins to dance with her, spinning her carefully around the room while Mummy watches on, smiling the smile that lights up her entire face. Finally she comes and joins them, and they hold the little girl between them…_

Hermione felt eyes on her and glanced over at Severus Snape. Sniffing, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to smile.

"Do you mind watching something else?" she asked.

He shrugged, and for what was probably the millionth time, she felt as if he was pitying her. She waited for her temper to flare, only to discover that it was too drained to do more than form a knot in her lower abdomen.

She flipped channels, skipping over the news, feeling her stomach lurch. The remote clattered to the floor as she darted to the washroom and doubled over.

"Miss Granger…"

She vaguely heard footsteps following her as she tried with everything she had to keep her meal down. Forcing herself to swallow the bile filling her mouth, she grimaced, but her willpower was stronger.

Cool fingers gripped her head as she collapsed onto the edge of the bathtub and dissolved into sobs. She hated herself for crying in front of him, hated herself for what she had done to herself. The tears were more angry than upset, fury at the world, a scream for help. She hated being so helpless against the turn her life had taken.

If she could never hear her mother's muffled sobs from down the hall, never hear the way it echoed as her father yelled, never hear another fist pounding on the table in anger again then she would never ask another thing from anyone.

But at the moment, it didn't seem likely.

Pulling away from Snape, she walked calmly out and sat back on the couch, as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary. He followed, apparently taken aback.

"What _is _this?" he asked, gesturing at the screen in disgust.

"Oh, don't tell me that you've never heard of the cult classic _Star Trek_," Hermione replied sarcastically.

"It's so…"

"Strange?" she finished for him. "It takes place in the future, with some strange government for the entire planet. I think."

He studied the screen for a moment. "Is this supposed to be _advanced _technology?" he commented as someone was beamed away.

"Sad, isn't it?" she replied. "There's even some poor delusional people in the world that think it's real. They have a school for Trekkies somewhere in California, I think. Personally, I don't see what's so wonderful about it."

He arched his eyebrows. "Neither do I."

* * *

Ginny sat up in bed, panting, bangs plastered to her forehead from sweat.No, please, go away… 

She hugged herself to stop the trembling, but it didn't help.

_Just a dream, just a dream, _she repeated over and over in her head.

But the fact was that it _wasn't _just a dream, and turning on a light wouldn't frighten reality away. It was her fault that Voldemort had almost returned to power four years ago, and for some reason or the other, he seemed to want her back. Either that, or she was going insane, with the whispers echoing in the corridors and the images wavering before her eyes that disappeared as she drew nearer.

Given a choice, she would choose insanity.

* * *

Across the castle, Draco Malfoy was tormented by another type of pain. The stinging in his left arm was steadily growing, as it had been for the last week. But that was nothing to the heaviness in his chest, preventing his breaths from coming evenly.

He looked across the room into the mirror, wasn't fooled by the features that could almost be feminine if it wasn't for the slightly squared jaw. He was a monster.

Hermione shifted into a position that was, if possible, even more uncomfortable than the last. The armrest was making her neck stiff, something on the couch was digging into her back, and, despite the blankets wrapped around her tightly, she couldn't stop shivering.

On the other side of the room she could hear the sheets rustle as Snape tossed restlessly. Sitting up, she hugged her knees to her chest, moonlight casting shadows on her face. Turning her head so she could see him, she watched on, confusion rising in her chest.

Why was he being so nice to her? Out of pity? A sense of duty? Because there was no one else?

A thought hit her. He had seen her mother, that day. Watched her come up the front steps shrieking into the phone at her father. Did he suspect something? Did he _know_? Did he even care?

A week ago, she would have said no, without a second thought. Severus Snape was a bastard who didn't give a damn about anyone.

And to Hermione, that was admirable.

No matter how much she tried to convince herself, she wasn't—would never be—indifferent. Not caring didn't cause bulimia or the constant weight on her heart and lump in her throat. It didn't cause tears late at night, sobbing into her pillow to stifle the sound. It didn't cause her blind fury towards the world.

She had been certain that Severus Snape had never felt any of these things.

But now, now he was human to her. He had cared enough in the café to help her up, not take her instantly home like he had wanted to. And again, today, when her uncle… when… when he had… When she had taken her cousin and ran away.

But what had she changed, really? She had stopped him from being hit once, but what about the next time, and the time after that?

_Don't be ridiculous, _she told herself. _You did what you could._

_What was sending him back? _

_What could I have done?_

She could have told someone. But who? Her mother?

She could hear the distracted _don't be silly, darling _in her mind already. And her father wouldn't get past the _Dad, there's something important I need to tell you _before losing interest. And if he did listen? Well, he might think that his sister deserved what she got, which was absolutely sickening. Just thinking about it made her jaw clench in anger.

Sometimes, she decided, it was better to keep these little secrets, even if they sometimes made it hard to breathe. Because telling might make things worse.

Even as she thought this, her own cowardice made her ill.

* * *

_Blood was spilling onto the earth, staining it the rusty color that was only too familiar to him. It was flowing from thousands, lying on the ground in a desert. Even the sun was red as it hung just over the horizon, giving everything an eerie glow. He looked down and yelled in horror at what he saw._

_It was himself._

"Professor Snape… sir? Are you all right?"

Someone was shaking him awake, somewhat desperately.

Opening his eyes, he saw the Granger girl peering down at him worriedly.

"You were throwing things," she told him, picking up the broken lamp that had been sitting on his night-table previously. "Unless you want to pay, I suggest you fix it. Your pillow is somewhere over there."

Her voice was calm, but it didn't escape his notice that she wouldn't meet his gaze and her hands trembled violently as the lamp she was holding fell to the ground once again.

"I'm sorry for waking you up. I didn't know what to do."

He felt the need to say something, but his tongue felt like a foreign object.

She sat down on the mattress beside him, and he could hear her ragged, uneven breathing echoing out into the silence. The inches between them seemed like miles, he had forgotten how silence could magnify things.

"You're shaking," she told him, fingering the blanket.

"I'm fine," he barked, losing patience with himself more than her. He didn't want or need her pity, and he was a fool for putting himself in this position.

She jerked away from his sudden anger, and he felt guilty. None of this was her fault. She hadn't asked to have to put up with him. But the apology caught in his throat.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, standing up.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's hardly your fault," he replied, finding his voice again.

She snorted derisively. "Isn't it always my fault? You're the only one who doesn't realize it. It's my fault that… that I'm like this. It's my fault that my cousin went back. It's my fault that my parents can't get along. They were fine until I went to Hogwarts. If it wasn't for me, they still would be."

She had said it all in a quiet, calm voice, but it would have been better if she had shrieked it. Then, maybe it would have seemed more like something said in anger.

"What do you mean?" The strange, dreamlike quality of this encounter allowed him to be more frank that he would have been otherwise.

"Never mind." She seemed to have collected herself. "It isn't important."

_I think it is, _he answered her silently. But he didn't have the nerve to say it. Somehow he felt that it would only hurt her more.

* * *

Agrippa climbed out of the cold bed and pulled her house-coat on, shuffling down the stairs to the kitchen. It seemed that lately she was always sleepless, had been blaming it on the coffee she drank each night as she waited up for Steve. But tonight she had made sure that it was decaf, so the only logical conclusion was that it was either her eyes malfunctioning or the empty space in the bed beside her.

She preferred to think it was the former.

Warming a mug of milk, she stirred honey into it and cupped it in her hands, inhaling the steam rising off of it. Then, migrating to the living room, she shifted through their collection of movies until she found the home-made one entitled _Hawaii, 1985._

Curling up on the sofa and sipping her drink, she began to watch the film.

_The little girl is building a sand castle on the beach as her father builds a moat around it with an orange plastic shovel, small face framed by wet curls and intent on her task. Some other children run by, splashing her and she squeals in delight._

"_What are you doing, Hermione?" her mother asks, and she squints up at the camera._

_Her sun burnt and peeling nose only make add to the sweetness of the image, the perfect picture of a little girl._

"_Making a castle," she replies, her solemn._

"_And who's going to live in it?"_

"_The queen," she answers promptly. "And sometimes the king. But after a while he'll leave."_

"_Why?" Agrippa questions._

"_Because he's mean and the queen doesn't like him, so she makes him go away."_

"_So why did they get married, then, squirt?" her father asks._

_Hermione cocks her head for a moment, as if listening to someone. "She says he used to love her, but then the evil monster took over him and he doesn't anymore."_

"_I think you've been watching _The Little Mermaid _too much," he tells her, splashing her lightly, and hitting the camera lens at the same time. "It doesn't work quite like that."_

Hermione sat on the couch, staring at Snape, only this time, he wasn't sleeping, he was staring back. Only they weren't quite meeting each other's gaze. Every time he caught her looking, she suddenly became fascinated with the ugly gray carpet covering the floor. It was well past three in the morning already, and both of them had given up entirely on sleep.

* * *

"So why are you in London, anyway?" she asked, meeting his gaze directly this time.

_Yeah, great way to start a conversation, _she thought. It was practically like saying, _Why_ _are you intruding on _my _territory?_

He grimaced. "The beloved Headmaster decided that I needed to get away from the stress in Hogwarts. He seemed to feel that my tasks were too… demanding."

She didn't miss his pause, nor was she oblivious to the shadow passing across his face. "So, living in muggle London isn't your choice?" she asked, pretending that she hadn't noticed.

"You might say that," he replied.

"Oh."

There was an awkward pause, before Hermione began to giggle quietly.

He raised an eyebrow in question, wondering if it had something to do with female hormones or the result of lack of food. "Would you care to explain what is so funny about that?"

"Think about it. This is possibly the strangest situation we could be in. You, obeying orders rather than giving them, and living in the muggle world for Christmas holidays. Me, with my perfect little life that's not-so-wonderful after all, sitting in a hotel room with you at almost four in the morning, carrying on a civilized conversation. A bit ironic, don't you think? And we were watching _Star Trek_, of all things…"

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"And you almost smiled for a moment," she added wryly. "I think the world should start worrying about slipping off the axis."

"Was that an insult, Miss Granger?" His voice was soft and dangerous, but she didn't miss the glint of humor in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Of course not, _Professor Snape_," she replied. "If it was, you wouldn't have to ask."

Her light-hearted words seemed to strike a chord with him, however, and noting the way his face closed, she felt a pang of guilt strike her.

"I'm sorry," she burst out quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you—"

"Don't trouble yourself," he snapped, returning to the man who had taught her potions for the last six years, cold and unyielding.

"Fine, then, I won't," she snarled back. "I don't know why I even bothered."

"Neither do I!"

There was no logical explanation for the sting his words gave her, no reason for him to affect her like this. She tried to shrug it off, but found that she couldn't.

* * *

Agrippa started to leave the living room, started to walk away from the memories the film held for her.

She made it halfway up the stairs before turning back.

Why torment herself with the past?

But letting go wasn't possible. Not yet.

For a few moments, she had felt safe inside that world, the world before shrieking and door-slamming. The world that existed before confusion and late nights waiting up for someone who wouldn't come. A safe world.

She settled back down onto the couch and pressed the remote control, closed her eyes as the image came onto the screen, heard her sharp intake of breath.

_The scene is now a dinner cruise. The little girl is now wearing a sarong and tank top that hangs loosely off of her. Now Steve is holding the camera, which is focused on Agrippa, smiling affectionately at her daughter._

_Hula dancers step between the tables, serving meals of seafood and traditional Hawaiian dishes. Behind them, the sun sets over Maui, silhouetting the rounded mountains against the blood orange sky._

"_Can I look in there?" Hermione asks, pointing at the camera._

"_But then you won't be on it, sweetheart," Agrippa refuses gently, as her husband replies, "No reason why not."_

_The scene becomes blurred as the camera is passed from his hands to hers. When it focuses, Steve has his hand resting on Agrippa's protectively, almost dominantly. Carefully, she draws it out from under his, and he covers it again, leaning over and nuzzling her ear._

_She draws away, laughing, "Not in public."_

_He smiles and kisses her gently, ignoring her teasing shrug._

_The camera begins to tremble slightly in the six-year-old's hands. Steve notices this, and is distracted, removing it, careful not to let it fall._

_Food is placed before them, and the camera turns off, leaving the screen blank._

That was their last night on the island, Agrippa remembered, turning off the television. Watching it left her with mixed feelings. Yes, she had been happy, but something as simple as his hand being placed on hers confused her. She felt angry about it, certainly angrier than she had then, but it was such a small, trivial thing.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she moaned. It was four-thirty in the morning and tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She should sleep. But she doubted her ability to be able to.

* * *

Ginny opened her eyes to the darkness pressing on them, and sighed. Once, just once, she would like to sleep without interruption. At least this time, it hadn't been from the dream, just insomnia.

With a sigh, she stood and shuffled out of bed, looking down at the common room.

Harry was sitting in one of the winged chairs, staring into the embers pensively.

_Again_, she reflected.

This time, she didn't go down and talk to him. She didn't feel like dealing with him just now. For some reason or the other, she was more than faintly annoyed with him and Ron, and didn't feel like starting arguments with either of them.

Recently, it seemed that she honestly disliked Harry. She couldn't explain it. It wasn't that he was a snob or a prick—he was just too… Harry-ish.

And nosy, in a way. He was always there exactly when she didn't want him, sticking his nose where it had no business being. Why couldn't he just go away? She could understand Ron's concern. He was after all her brother. But his friend had no right at all to be taking responsibility for her.

_Calm down, Ginny, _she told herself, taking a deep breath. She was already worked up about it, and she hadn't even spoken to anyone. _You're as jumpy as a Hippogriff on crack._

She began to leave, but crashed headlong into Ron on her way.

"Ginny?" he mumbled, bleary eyed. "It's five in the morning. Go back to bed."

"Yes, mother," she replied sarcastically, but watched him descend the stairs to talk to his friend.

A/N: For the record, I do not hate Trekkies... I just feel the need to mock them incessantly because although I have many obsessions, none of them involve forehead ridges. Please don't come after me... (Really, you know I love you)


	7. 6 Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Disclaimer: To the estate of Louis Armstrong—please don't sue me. It won't accomplish anything, anyway!

A/N: Just to clarify a few things… Well, one thing really. Up to about the twentieth chapter, this story is a repost. It was removed from this site before I could have a chance to finish it, so since the beginning was fairly brutal and I'd been planning a repost once I'd finished anyway, I thought it made sense to just fix the story while reposting it (hence: super speedy updates!). After Chapter 20, everything is new…

Anyway, this chapter is one of my favourites. Mostly because it provides me with the happy mental image of Snape in nothing but a towel…

_I see trees of green _

_Red roses too_

_I see them bloom_

_For me and you_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

_I see skies of blue_

_And clouds of white_

_The bright, blessed day_

_The dark, sacred night_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

_The colors of the rainbow_

_So pretty in the sky_

_Are also on the faces _

_Of the people going by_

_I see friends shaking hands_

_Saying how do you do_

_They're really saying_

_I love you_

_I hear babies cry_

_I watch them grow_

_They'll learn much more_

_Than I'll ever know_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

_Yes, I think to myself,_

_What a wonderful world…_

_What a Wonderful World, _Louis Armstrong

Perfection

Chapter 6: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Steve strolled into the house at five in the morning, trying, unsuccessfully, to air the cigarette smoke out of his jacket. His head was already pounding from the drinks he had been consuming all night, and a faint sound from the living room only increased his headache. Clumsily, he staggered through the kitchen, into the adjoining room to see Agrippa curled up on the sofa, head tilted at an odd angle. On the floor beside her was the box for a home-made movie.

With fumbling fingers, he picked it up and squinted.

A holiday movie from ten years ago. Why on earth had she been watching it?

Steve had liked to make them more for prestige's sake than the memories. That way when they returned from Mexico or the Canary Islands they could show it off to the friends and family, say, _See, this is where we went, this is the expensive hotel we stayed in, look at the car we rented. _He had never understood why, years later, his wife would pull them out and watch them.

To him, it was all a waste of time.

* * *

The clock read five forty-seven. Neither of them had slept, and below them, the city was coming alive. Cars were beginning to fill the main drags, and the noise began to filter up. 

"There's a six o'clock buffet breakfast," Snape commented, breaking the silence of over an hour and a half.

She swung around and searched his face for any scorn or disdain. It was expressionless.

"Oh, really?"

Her stomach was beginning to feel queasy and she forced away the nausea. If she could force herself to go without food, then she could force herself to eat it. Bite by bite she would get over this without any help from Severus Snape. Or anyone else, for that matter.

"If you want to avoid seeing your relatives, it would be a good time to go."

She studied him, looking for any hidden meaning, any challenge. There was none.

"I see no reason why not."

Unfolding herself from the couch, she walked into the washroom, shutting the door firmly behind her, the click as it locked echoing out.

Hermione turned on the taps, letting the warm water run over her icy hands as she studied herself in the mirror.

Hollow cheekbones. Dried and cracked lips. Colourless cheeks. Hair that had lost its shine. Hungry eyes. Not hungry for food, but hungry for love, approval, as a plant is for the sunlight.

How had she come to this?

One minute, smiling, content, happy little girl, loving parents, secure in their love. Then, turn around and she was a falling apart teenager, screaming inside to be heard, when all that the world heard was itself.

She had wanted to be perfect. Maybe then they would listen, pay attention to what was staring them in the face. Somewhere, in that road to perfection, she had taken a wrong turn, misunderstood the directions.

And here she was, a small, frail creature, just waiting to be crushed.

Hermione Granger studied herself in the mirror. And found that she hated what stared back.

* * *

He stretched out on the bed, running a hand through his hair. Severus Snape, as much as he hated to admit it, was utterly dumbfounded. If anyone had told him two weeks earlier that he would spend the entire night in a hotel room with a Gryffindor girl (anorexic, no less) watching _The Princess Bride _and Star Trek re-runs, well, he would have laughed them out of the building. Or sent them to St. Mungo's to test their mental health. Probably the latter. 

But it didn't matter. It had happened, and no amount of foresight could have prepared him for it. Although there was a small part of him that was wondering whether _he _had finally gone over the edge and this was all some twisted illusion inside of his head. That was hardly a comforting thought.

Of course, insane people didn't question what was happening did they? Not that he'd met many of them, but from his understanding…

"Professor Snape?"

He sat up quickly, startled.

"Miss Granger," he replied curtly.

They stared at one another awkwardly for a moment.

"Well, this is certainly a fascinating conversation," she finally commented. "As much as I long for it to continue, I must urgently press you to use the washroom. You look like hell."

"Thank you," he returned, arching an eyebrow sardonically.

As he closed the door behind him, he heard the murmur of the television begin. Soon, though, the pounding of the shower drowned it out, and all he was left with was his thoughts. To block them out, he concentrated on shampooing his hair. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Although he tended to skip the last step.

He despised the complementary shampoo that the hotels gave out. It made his hair fluffy, not to mention that it was rose-scented and didn't rinse out properly. What the hell was L'Oreal anyway?

The lavender soap wasn't much better, although at least it didn't leave a lingering smell. He cranked off the hot water and let the coolness slide over him. Once his scalp began to go numb, he turned it off altogether and wrapped a towel around his waist. Without a second thought, he walked out, into the main room.

At the sound of his approach, Hermione glanced over briefly, then returned her attention to the travel show on Bolivia. A moment later, she looked back, and her eyes grew large. Color appeared in her cheeks as she met his gaze.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in her throat and a croaking sound emerged.

Severus stood in the doorframe, absolutely mortified and desperately trying to hide it. He wanted to turn and shut the door, but his feet seemed to have taken root. So he did the only thing that seemed logical in his muddled mind. He laughed.

The sound broke the ice, and she began to giggle too, Bolivia forgotten.

He ducked back in to the washroom as she buried her face in the pillow to wipe away the tears of mirth streaking her face.

* * *

The restaurant was virtually empty at six a.m., and unwilling to break the silence, they picked at their own food. 

Hermione was glad that they weren't talking. She didn't think that she would be able to stop herself from giggling helplessly.

God, who would have thought that Severus Snape looked like that, under the black robes that usually covered him from head to foot? Or in the muggle world, expensive black suits, not unlike the ones worn by her father for meetings and formal occasions. He was pale, not the sallow colouring he seemed to have in the dim light of the dungeons, and although not heavily muscled, neither was he without them, not to mention the cat-like grace he possessed…

What was she thinking?

_Face it, Hermione,_ and tiny voice told her. _You're attracted to him._

She winced inwardly at the though, taking a sip of coffee, then instantly spat it out. Raising his eyebrows, Snape picked up his mug.

"Don't drink it," she warned him. "It's… wrong… Nothing should taste like that."

He drank from it, then began coughing violently.

"I warned you," she grinned. "At least you managed to swallow it. I think anything would improve the taste."

"Would this?" he asked, holding up the salt shaker.

"Why don't you try?"

He shook some in, as she added grated parmesan and some pepper, then broke a piece off of her bagel and stuffed it into the mug. The cream cheese turned it a milky brown, and Hermione wrinkled her nose, grinning.

"Put in some more salt," she urged.

Five minutes later, they were left with a steaming, soggy mess inside of the coffee cup.

"Now what?" he asked.

She smiled evilly. "Now, we drink."

He grimaced.

"What, too afraid? If you drink some, then I will too."

Reluctantly, he raised it to his mouth, and took a sip. She watched to make sure that he swallowed.

"Your turn," he gagged handing it to her. "How much pepper did you put in it?"

"Mmm… protein," she commented as she raised it to her lips.

The taste seared her mouth, making her eyes water and her throat close.

"I take it back… There's something worse than the coffee," she said, once she had recovered. Noticing his grin, she suggested innocently, "There's peach juice over there. We could make something out of that…"

He shook his head. "No, never again."

She laughed and popped a strawberry into her mouth. It was only once she had chewed and swallowed that she realized she hadn't thought about it.

* * *

He stared down at the sleeping girl. They were back in the hotel room, and Hermione had flopped down on _his _bed, turning on the television, and promptly fallen asleep after saying something about being picked up at ten. 

It was still quarter to seven.

Severus sat down next to where her head was resting on her arm and studied her. Or tried to, anyway. A curtain of hair, which made it next to impossible, hid her face. Strangely compelled, he reached out carefully to smooth it away, but before he could touch her, she shifted suddenly, exposing her features.

Her eyes opened partially, and she whispered, "You have such beautiful eyes."

He assumed that it had been part of her dream, because a moment later she was back asleep.

With a sigh, Ginny opened her eyes, to see the first light of dawn illuminating her room. Silently, she slipped on an old jumper and jeans, then padded down into the common room. Harry was sitting in one of the winged chairs by the fire, his head tilted slightly to one side, snoring softly, and Ron was no where to be found.

Shrugging, she continued out of the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

* * *

The only people sitting at the tables when she arrived were Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and, much to her dismay, Draco Malfoy. The many tables that usually filled the room were stacked near the far wall, so only one remained. Ginny chose a seat as far from everyone else as she could, without seeming too obvious, and helped herself to a bowl of oatmeal. 

"Good morning, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore greeted her, buttering some toast. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, sir," she replied politely, avoiding his gaze.

"And you too, Mr. Malfoy?"

He nodded sullenly, studying the bacon resting on his plate. She couldn't help but notice the shadows under his eyes, but decided against commenting. She wasn't in the mood for a run-in this early in the morning. After a few minutes, the uncomfortable atmosphere descended on them, suffocating her enough to make her lose her appetite, and she pushed the bowl away, standing to go.

Dumbledore waved at her cheerfully, continuing his conversation with Professor McGonagall and she headed towards the library.

What was she, a second coming of Hermione or something?

She shrugged the thought away. Anything was better than drifting hopelessly through the halls all day.

She was halfway there when she became aware of footsteps behind her. Her scalp prickled and she felt her neck tense as they grew nearer. Heart in mouth, she turned to face them, and shrieked.

"Good morning to you too," Draco Malfoy greeted her. "Am I really that hideous?"

"Worse," she retorted, more than a little embarrassed over her reaction. "What do you want?"

"The sweet pleasure of your company," he told her wryly. "Tell me, are you a natural redhead? Because I've heard that the flame color of your hair is extraordinarily rare."

"Kindly remove yourself from my presence."

"Look who's the lady of the house now."

"Isn't that the role you fill?" Ginny retorted, not turning her head as she pushed open the library door and began shifting through leather-bound volumes.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"What, shocked that I have a tongue, Malfoy? Or that I dare stand up to your pathetic pureblood existence?"

He snarled in anger.

"Read this," she snapped, shoving a book into his chest with enough force to make him gasp. "It'll be a good lesson for you."

She stalked out of the room, leaving him to examine _The Young Wizard and Witch's Book of Etiquette, _open-mouthed.

* * *

Agrippa awoke to a crick in her neck and a migraine. Moaning, she rolled to her feet and dragged herself into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Hands trembling slightly, she picked up the kettle and promptly dropped it with a crash. 

Not in the mood to deal with it, she grabbed her car keys and headed out the door to go to a coffee shop where the only work involved was drinking it. Glancing at her watch she realized that it was almost eight and she had to pick up her daughter at ten.

For some reason or the other that one small task seemed to be difficult. She didn't want to have to face the girl who had, ten years earlier, seemingly predicted the current situation.

_She was a little kid. She was just making up a story._

But no matter how many times she repeated this in her head, she couldn't erase the words from her mind.

_She says he used to love her, but then the evil monster took over him and he doesn't anymore…

* * *

_

"Miss Granger…"

Someone was shaking her shoulder gently, and she opened her eyes blearily.

Oh. That someone was Professor Snape.

"Hello," she replied stupidly as the events slowly filtered back to her.

"It's nearly ten o'clock."

"Mmm…" she answered dully.

"And I believe that you have to leave. Soon. Within ten minutes."

Realization dawned slowly on her face. "Right. Umm…"

_This is awkward_, she thought. _Painfully._

"Excuse me, I need to…"

She flushed slightly as her voice trailed off. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"To use the facilities…" she finished nervously, eyes wide as she stared into his.

"By no means let me detain you."

She slipped into the other room, and once again stared at herself in the mirror. Only now, she was frantically going over what she could say to her mother.

_Mum, I need to tell you something. I'm scared of food. _

Yeah, really great

Mum, I have a problem… I can't eat… I regurgitate it instantaneously. 

No… definitely not.

_Mum, the first proper meal I've had in almost half a year was last night, I haven't had my period in five months, and I weigh about ninety pounds. I'm bulimic. The only reason I'm still alive is because I've been living off of my magic._

Well, it was better than telling her that she was terrified of allowing anything to pass her lips. If she was lucky, her parents would go out and get her a nice, private padded cell, straight jacket included.

Taking a breath and flattening her hair she stepped out, pulse racing.

* * *

He could tell that she was afraid. He wasn't sure of what, but her breathing was uneven and ragged, and her eyes were huge in her face. Of course, by now he knew better than to say anything. 

"Well, good-bye, I suppose," she said reluctantly. "And thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied stiffly, feeling the need to say something a little more meaningful than a two-word phrase.

She held out a hand to shake, and he grasped it firmly. A bit too firmly, judging by her grimace.

"You're hands are clammy," he commented, and she smiled slightly.

"I know."

She stood and stared at him for a few minutes, torn in indecision. Finally, she leaned forward slightly and kissed him lightly on the cheek, then turned and fled to the elevator, missing the way that his hand lifted to that spot and the look of confusion that followed.

* * *

Hermione arrived in the entranceway just in time to see her mother's silver car pull up. She dashed out the door, ignoring the sleet that mingled in her hair. For some reason or the other her feet weren't touching the ground and there was a strange giddy feeling in her stomach. Part fear, part… what? 

She was filled with a new and terrifying courage as she entered the car, determination to tell the truth, be honest with her mother and tell her everything… well, almost everything.

A determination that was to be short-lived.

As she slid in, she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it at the sight of her mother's eyes which were red from weeping.

"Mum—"

"Yes, darling?" her mother replied distractedly.

She couldn't do this to her, couldn't add yet another burden to her already heavy load.

She paused for a second, opened her mouth, prepared to tell her…

But instead, it came out as, "Is everything all right?"

Hermione sat in her room, wrapping paper spread in front of her. But she wasn't using it. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, staring blankly at the scissors on her floor, dimly realizing the strange silence that filled the house. Particularly unusual, because both of her parents were home.

She could hear the sound of dishes clattering downstairs, but no yelling. What had happened in the one night that she had been away?

Despite the tiny ray of hope shining in her heart, something cautioned her that nothing had changed, that it was all a façade. But wasn't that what everything in her life was?

To Steve and Agrippa Granger, Hermione was the perfect daughter who had never caused them a moment's worry. To Hermione, they were the parents who had once created an almost utopian life for her, until they had begun this other hellish existence that she lived in every holiday. To the world, they were the happy, united Granger family, two successful dentists with their brilliant daughter who attended an "elite boarding school in Switzerland."

_If only_, Hermione thought. _If only all of these appearances weren't just that—appearances._

With a sigh, she began to cut up the wrapping paper and carefully wrapped the gifts, remembering with a shock that she hadn't given her relative's theirs. Hoping that her mother would be too preoccupied to recall them, she shoved the presents and their respective cards behind her dresser, praying that no extensive cleaning would happen for a very, _very _long time.

Then, clearing her mind, she completed the wrapping, and stacked the gifts neatly in her closet. It was only then that she allowed herself to recall the previous night. And the morning… She smiled at the thought of the drink they had shared, as strange as it was. For a moment, she had been only in the present. There had been no past, no future. It was almost as if, for that brief period, the roller coaster had stopped to give her a breather.

She could only pray that now it wouldn't continue to plummet.

* * *

Night had descended over London once again, and Severus Snape was undergoing the strangest sensation of his lifetime. The impossible had happened. He had actually enjoyed himself with Hermione Granger. Although at times it had been utterly shocking, and almost frightening, she was truly… well, someone worth his while. 

As a rule, he never let anyone become too close to him. He had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and giving a part of himself away was never particularly a cherished idea. But now he was wondering how much he had missed out on.

He by no means felt as though he knew her—it would reach a point where she would suddenly slam a door in his face and he knew that he continually did the same to her. But at the same time, he had enjoyed even the arguments and snide remarks. Of course, he would forever drink his coffee straight.

Chuckling to himself, he rolled onto his side, and turned on the TV. Incidentally, Star Trek was on. He made it through about two minutes before becoming so utterly confused that he had to turn it off.

Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he slid over to the window and opened the blinds, staring out at muggle London and the waning moon.

* * *

Across town, Hermione was staring at that same moon, mind wandering. Her parents weren't shouting, so she didn't need loud music. Instead, the music that was playing was somewhat mellower, more thoughtful. It suited her mood perfectly. 

How many times had she stopped to see the flowers growing on the front yards, stopped to admire the colors, seen the beauty they gave the world in the last few years? There was so much more than that.

Because the world really was beautiful, despite everything. No matter what happened, there would always be something to laugh at, someone smiling—no matter how bleak it seemed. That was what she had forgotten.

It was all combined in one, sometimes. The dark and the light. She had learned that no one was all good, just as no one was all evil, no matter what the intentions. Because all of the good intentions in the world hadn't saved her.

Love, she realized bitterly. That was what had gotten her into this. It was the reason she could hear her mother crying in the night. It all seemed so pointless, the only thing it brought was hurt. But no matter how she pushed it away, it would always be there. Always.

"Hermione? Sweetheart?"

She jerked around to see her mother standing in the doorway, illuminated from behind. Hastily, she wiped away tears. She hadn't even noticed that she was crying.

"Can I come in?"

Hermione nodded. "Sure, Mum. Sit down."

Agrippa sat down on the bed next to her daughter.

"You didn't eat supper. I heated you up a plate of spaghetti."

Hermione took the plate from her mother's trembling hand, and slowly mixed in the tomato sauce, then twirled some onto her fork. Her head was pounding; surely her stomach would rebel…

Then it was safely down her throat, and she looked her mother dead in the eye.

"Are you all right, Mum?"

Agrippa nodded, and it struck Hermione how tiny and fragile her mother looked, hunched on the unmade bed. She was glad that she had decided not to tell her. One more blow and it would be her undoing.

Hermione Granger was on her own for this one.

"Look," Agrippa began, "I know I haven't been the best of mothers lately, but if there's anything, anything at all, that you want to tell me, I'm willing to listen."

_I'm sorry, Mum, but I can't. It would hurt you too much to know. And I can't do that to you._

"I'm fine," Hermione insisted, patting her mother's hand. "Everything will be fine."

The situation seemed oddly reversed. Wasn't the parent supposed to comfort the child?

"I love you, Mum," she told her, the words sounding foreign on her tongue.

"Oh, sweetheart, I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

For no apparent reason, Agrippa broke down into sobs, and Hermione set down her plate to comfort her.

Giving her mother an awkward, albeit genuine hug, she murmured, "No you haven't. Wherever I've screwed up, it's been my fault entirely."

"No, Hermione," her mother said, pulling away. "Don't think like that. It _isn't _your fault. I've neglected you. And you haven't 'screwed up.' You're the best daughter I could have hoped for."

Hermione felt a small glow of pride at the compliment—one of the few that she could recall receiving from her mother. But at the same time, a tiny voice whispered, _If only you knew…_

Once again, she opened her mouth to say it, only to find that she couldn't.

* * *

Hermione rolled over, burrowing her head under the covers so that the light wouldn't hit her eyes. There was something special about today, something important… 

Christmas.

She pried her eyes open and twisted her head so that she could see her clock. It was just after ten. For a moment, she felt guilty about sleeping in, guilty about wasting time. But when she listened for the morning noises that usually filled the house, like dishes clanging and footsteps on linoleum, they weren't there, so she assumed that she wasn't the only one not up.

Pulling on a housecoat, she shoved her feet in the fuzzy slippers, picked up her wrapped and stacked gifts, and shuffled down the stairs into the empty kitchen, then carried on to the living room, where the Christmas tree stood in the corner, presents piled under it. She added hers to the packages, then stood back to admire the picture it formed.

It brought to mind other Christmases, when she would wake at six in the morning and bound into her parents' bedroom, leaping on the bed and shrieking for them to get up, snowball fights in the front yard an hour later, much to the neighbors' annoyance, and coming in soaking wet for hot chocolate and breakfast. In the evening, they would go to her mum's mother's house for Christmas dinner, goose with white wine sauce, along with all of her mother's family. They still did that, but it was tenser in recent years, even common courtesies seemed forced, to Hermione at least. None of her aunts or uncles noticed, despite the large amounts of gossip that they passed on, nor did her grandmother, however sharp she seemed to be.

Hermione had barely met her father's side of the family. Arthur and his parents, whom she was trying to forget at present, were the first ones in a very long time. Her paternal grandfather, like the one on her mother's side had passed away, and she had barely met the vague older woman who had moved to Yorkshire for health reasons…

"Good morning, Hermione," a voice boomed from behind her, making her jump so high she nearly hit the roof.

"Dad!" she breathed, trying to calm her fluttering heart. "I didn't know you were there…"

"How's my favorite daughter this morning?"

He was faking joviality, evidently trying to appear amiable, and she wished that he would stop. It was painfully obvious and she cringed for him inwardly.

"I'm your only daughter, Dad," she pointed out dryly.

"That doesn't stop you from being my favorite."

She suppressed a sigh, then turned her attention to Agrippa, who was hovering in the doorway. "Good morning, Mum," she announced, taking a leaf out of Steve's book. "Did you sleep well?"

A ghost of a smile flashed across her tired face as she replied. "Yes, sweetheart, thank you. And how about you?"

"Fine, Mum."

She wasn't about to admit to her mother that she had been kept up half the night because her thoughts kept rotating back to a certain pair of black eyes locked on her, dark humor filling them… She could barely even admit it to herself.

There was a moment of awkward silence, as each person stared around the room, searching for something to say.

Hermione pasted a smile on her face and said brightly, "So, let's open presents."

* * *

Severus had never particularly enjoyed Christmas, not even as a child. His parents used it as a competition—whoever gave him the most was the winner. True, he had been the envy of Hogwarts for all of a week, but it was hardly comforting. 

His mother, he supposed, had loved him in her distant way, but there was no honesty in the affection she gave him, assuming that she even bothered. And his father, well, Severus tried not to think of him. Cold, deliberately cruel. And his students thought that he was bad. They should try putting up with Dominic Snape for even an hour, never mind thirty years.

Nine years after his father's death, Severus was still grateful that he had come out relatively unscathed. Never good enough for him, Severus had tried to please him constantly, from bullying at school, right up to becoming a Death Eater. As the years continued, he hardened, keeping everyone at bay. Because if he couldn't trust his own flesh and blood to protect him, why would anyone else?

There had always been a tiny part of him, a part that he had kept locked away, even from himself. It was what his father had called weakness, and had tried to beat out of him, time and time again, whenever Severus had been tormented by an act of violence.

At the age of eleven, his father had forced him to master the Unforgivables, had taught him that loyalty is an illusion, that any excuse for power is a good excuse. And by age eleven, Severus Snape had seen what he did not want to become but, for a brief period, anyway, had.

With a heavy sigh, Severus Snape stood from the hotel couch where he had been sitting and stared at his reflection in the windowpane. Once, he had heard of a composer who had been buried numerous times because his first grave had not given him the recognition he deserved, and then again because during a war, the church had been bombed, and his grave exposed. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The past was supposed to remain buried, not be dug up time and time again.

Why not forget it, for a while at least? Besides, it was Christmas. Snow had fallen overnight and hadn't had time to melt yet, hadn't had time to expose the cold city underneath. Albus was always trying to encourage him to get in the spirit of things, and maybe this time he would. True, he was alone, but, he reminded himself sharply, it was better that way.

* * *

Every year, Ginny looked forward to Christmas. It was the time of year when families all sat around the table, bickering amiably for elbow space, and eating turkey and mashed potatoes. 

This year, she had barely remembered it.

It was so strange, just herself, Harry, Ron, Draco Malfoy, and a few other Hufflepuffs with whom she wasn't acquainted. And no one, except Dumbledore, seemed to be in the spirit of things. Harry moped around, no one was really sure why. Ron followed Harry around, trying to cheer him up. Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs, although at least he _had _a sense of humor, not that she would have anything to do with him. The teachers were all preoccupied with fighting Voldemort, the faster the better. And the Hufflepuffs, well, who knew where or how they spent their time.

So Ginny was more or less on her own. Which meant she was probably better off, since everyone else was acting totally insane, although it meant that there was no one to carry on a conversation with. True, it was lonely, but unless she wanted to be labeled as ready to fly off the handle any minute, she couldn't talk to herself either.

The sun was shining in her window, giving off the quality of light that let her know it had snowed. Even the weather was in more of a Christmas spirit than she was, which was reversed from the usual above melting temperatures that spited her every year. Yes, it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. But it sure as hell didn't feel like it.

With a sigh, Ginny Weasley got out of bed, and prepared her armor for the day in front of her.

* * *

One of the Granger traditions every Christmas morning, right after breakfast, was to drive through the city, stopping only for a brief walk through the park. Hermione stared out of the back seat numbly, half-listening to the pleasant small talk her parents were making. The snow was still crisp, not brown and slushy like it turned after being driven through and melted. For once, there was no traffic, only people taking walks and sledding. She stared longingly at a family making a snowman, and sighed inwardly, glancing up at her stiff parents. 

Her mother had insisted on driving, which had earned a dirty look from her father, although a cut-throat signal had stopped the argument before it could begin.

When they pulled into the parking lot they normally stopped at, Steve sighed, "I don't think I'll get out. I must be coming down with something."

Hermione didn't miss the smouldering look Agrippa shot at him.

"Come on, Hermione. It's too nice a day to waste."

Obediently, she slid out of the car and waited for her mother to walk around.

"Where do you want to go?" Agrippa asked, tilting her head in question.

"Wherever's fine with me."

They began walking, Hermione shuffling her feet through the snow, trying desperately to come up with something to say.

"So, how's work been?" she asked, realizing just how stupid it sounded as the words rolled off of her tongue.

"Well," her mother began, "about the same, I suppose."

Hermione tried to pay attention as her mother rattled off the names of clients, but another figure walking towards them in the distance. Unwittingly, she began to pick up her pace, until Agrippa was struggling to keep up.

Finally, Hermione's mother told her with a smile, "I'll wait for you on this bench. Go and get rid of your energy."

With barely a backward glance, Hermione continued on, never taking her eyes off of the man ahead of her. Once she was far enough away from her mother and close enough to him to be certain, she called out.

He looked up just in time to dodge a snowball aimed at his head.

"Miss Granger!" he snapped. "If we were at school…"

"Which we aren't," she reminded him, grinning.

He arched an eyebrow. That expression sent something strange shooting through her stomach.

"Smile," she told him. "It's Christmas."

_Even my parents are being somewhat civil, _she thought wryly.

"Precisely," he replied. "A commercialized and extravagant time for people who enjoy wasting their money."

She smiled at him. "Probably true," she replied dryly. "But it doesn't have to be."

She could tell that he had never seen it that way before.

"How so?"

"Well, I used to know a family who, instead of buying gifts, only made them. And it can be family bonding time, not that my parents see it that way. Or it can just be fun. Or is that word in your vocabulary?"

At first, she froze, worried that she had offended him. In one fluid movement, her guilt dissipated as he scooped up a handful of snow and lobbed it at her, catching her on the cheek. Shrieking in false anger, she returned the gesture, and soon there was a full-fledged war going on. Dodging in at him, snow grasped in her mittened hand, she face washed him, making sure that some of it went down his back. She paused for a moment, wondering how he would react. She waited too long, and found herself on the ground, facedown, pinned in place by Severus Snape.

"Merry Christmas," she said, breathless with laughter.

A slow, grudging smile spread across his face. "Merry Christmas, Miss Granger."

He stood and helped her up, brushing snow off of his robes.

"You have something in your hair," she pointed out, trying to shake out the snowflakes that clung to her.

He ran a hand through it.

"Still there," she replied. She pointed at her own head, trying to show where it was. He lifted his hand to the wrong side. "No, let me get it."

She reached out and pulled out what turned out to be part of a dried leaf. Without letting it fall, she clasped her hands in front of her.

"My mum's waiting," she said finally. "I should probably go."

"Yes," he replied, and Hermione waited, half-hoping that he would say something.

"Well, good-bye, then."

A corner of his mouth twitched in agreement.

"I guess I'll see you when school starts again."

She turned and jogged away, still clutching the leaf in her hand.

* * *

Severus watched her go, rooted to the ground. For the time being he was living in the moment, covered from head to toe in snow, a strange warm glow filling him, despite the dampness of his clothes. 

So this is what she meant when she had said that Christmas was more than just another day, he mused.

The light feeling in his chest, the flushed feeling of being short on breath from the chase that made everything well up inside of him, made him want to grin like a fool. It was an alien emotion, something to wonder at.

A part of him knew that it wouldn't last, that the feeling would go as suddenly as it had come, but he could enjoy it for the brief moment that it lasted, and perhaps it would be enough.

* * *

Agrippa watched her daughter return, wondering at the laughter she had heard echoing in the distance. It hadn't seemed like Hermione, she was always so quiet and collected, although sometimes she would catch a glimpse of something dark in her eyes, something close to anger, yet heavy, like sadness. Usually, she blamed it on the eyeliner, but on those rare occasions when she wasn't wearing it, it was still present. 

The quietness had worried her when Hermione was younger. Weren't children supposed to be loud and spontaneous? But after a while, she began to accept her daughter's serious nature, and became thankful for it.

A model student who never gave a moment's alarm was to be preferred over a rebellious child. And she wasn't lacking in character, necessarily, just in volume.

"I'm back, Mum," Hermione said as she paused by the bench.

Her white cheeks were flushed with cold and her eyes sparkled with laughter that seemed to be rarely present of late.

"Is everything all right?"

Agrippa jerked into awareness. "Yes, of course it is," she lied hastily.

Hermione stared at her for a few moments piercingly, and Agrippa suddenly noticed how much older she was. It seemed only yesterday that she had been eleven years old, still full of the childish innocence that went with the age, marveling over the acceptance letter that had come to a school that none of them had ever heard of, a school for magic nonetheless.

And now she was sixteen, two years away from finishing school and very changed from the child she had been then. Her hair had changed from an untamed wilderness to ringlets that fell down her back, eyes had darkened from hazel to brown, and her skin was so pale it was almost ashen. Agrippa found herself wondering if Hermione had always looked so… small. But the thought made her feel guilty, as if she should have noticed these changes, so she squashed it.

Hermione sat next to her on the bench and pushed her hair out of her face.

"You're all wet," Agrippa commented, brushing the snow off of her coat. "What happened?"

"I fell," Hermione replied quickly, avoiding her gaze. "There was a patch of ice and I slipped."

"Were you talking to someone?" Agrippa asked suddenly. "I thought I heard you."

Once again, Hermione remained evasive. "There was a teacher from my school. I stopped to say hello. But I don't know how you could have heard that."

"Oh, well," Agrippa replied, furrowing her brow. "I suppose it couldn't have been you, then."

"No," she agreed. "I suppose not."

* * *

Ginny took a bite of turkey and looked around at the small gathering of staff and students sitting around the table. As she chewed, she let their banter wash over her. She felt somehow separated from the people surrounding her, which was ridiculous, because she had Harry on one side and Ron on the other, both of which were continually sending dirty looks at Draco Malfoy, who was eating silently on the other end of the table. The Hufflepuffs were in their own tight group, and the teachers were more relaxed than they had been since last June. 

Hagrid, as usual, had consumed a few too many, and was hiccoughing boisterously, while attempting to carry on a conversation with Professor Sinistra, who had an eyebrow raised, but was refraining from comment. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were engaged in conversation, laughing every so often, while Flitwick and Trelawny were arguing violently over which was more useful, a crystal ball or levitation beside them. For the first time, she noticed Professor Snape's absence from the table. She puzzled over it for a moment, before deciding that it was probably for the best.

Dumbledore stood, and with an air of great merriment announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, I have recently been introduced to a form of Muggle music, popular in the nineteen thirties, known as the polka. There is a dance to go along with it, which Professor McGonagall has kindly consented to demonstrate."

He clapped his hands, the tinny accordion music began, and the two teachers began wheeling throughout the Great Hall. Ginny hid a smile behind her hand while an incredulous look spread across the faces of everyone present. Of all the ways to break the ice that was apparent in the atmosphere…

After a few minutes, Harry turned to her, amusement sparkling in his eyes and said, "How about a go at it?"

Ginny grinned. "Why not?"

The energy of the dance filled her, and they leapt around the room with no particular grace or coordination, red hair flying behind her. By the end, Ginny was laughing so hard that she could barely stand and the rest of the staff had joined in, despite the look of bewilderment on some of their faces, as well as the Hufflepuffs. Ron and Draco were still sitting at the table, shooting poisonous looks at one another every so often.

When she sat back down, the blonde boy sauntered over to her and sat down, more to spite Ron, who couldn't do anything while the teachers were there, than anything.

"I read the book you gave me," he commented, pushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Really," she replied, somewhat aloof, although it was difficult when his mouth was in such proximity to hers. "Apparently you didn't get anything out of it."

"Not really," he replied, just as coolly. "Except that blind dates with dark wizards are bad ideas for proper young witches who wish to keep their reputations."

"Oh, really. I never would have guessed."

"I didn't think so," he replied, drawing a laugh from her.

She felt as startled by it as he looked.

"If you stay here much longer, I think Ron's going to commit homicide," she observed wryly.

"What gave you that impression?"

For some reason, this conversation was far more entertaining than one would be with Harry or Ron.

"So," she said quickly as she saw Harry and Ron moving towards them out of the corner of her eye. "Do you polka?"

"Not at all," he replied cheerfully. "But the ability to recognize one's faults is not prominent in my family and therefore I will not acknowledge the fact."

He pulled her off of her seat and into the thick of the mess of people stepping on each other's feet and tripping over their own.

"You know," he commented, "you aren't at all like a Weasley."

"Oh, really."

"You don't have the temper to go with that hair."

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, you haven't attacked me yet."

"Well, you aren't that much like a Malfoy."

She stumbled briefly, and in doing so, missed the shadow that crossed his face.

* * *

Severus Snape walked out of the hotel gift shop, wondering what in the name of Merlin he was doing. With a salt shaker stolen from the dining room weighing down a pocket and a Christmas card in his right hand, he half felt like laughing at himself and half felt like turning around and returning the card. In fact, if 'non-returnable' weren't stamped on the receipt, he would have. Or so he told himself. 

Besides, he felt he owed something to her. He wasn't really sure why. A couple of chance meetings and a startling revelation, so surprising that it was difficult to remember, and he was inexplicably in debt.

It was logic, pure and simple.

Back in his room, he scrawled a quick note, sealed the envelope and summoned an owl from Diagon Alley. In fifteen minutes, it was done and over with, and there would be no turning back.

* * *

The car was silent; painfully so, as the Granger family drove home from Christmas dinner. Her parents hadn't murdered each other yet, but that could be due to the fact that her mother helped in the kitchen the entire time while her father debated about football matches with her uncles. Not that that had made it any quieter. They had grown so loud that her grandmother had threatened to throw them out of the house if they didn't keep quiet. 

Agrippa broke the silence first.

"Turn right at the next intersection."

"I know where I'm going," Steve snarled.

"Which is why you're weaving all over the bloody road. It's a good thing there's no traffic, you'd have killed someone by now."

"I'm perfectly capable—"

"You're perfectly pissed, that's what you are! Now pull over, and let me drive before you hit something!"

"Oh, like you didn't drink anything either!"

"A glass of wine does not make me drunk. On the other hand, five cans of beer will. Now stop the goddamn car!"

Their voices had rose to shrieking levels, and Hermione winced as her father roared, "I'm in control!"

"Remind me to mention it at your funeral," Agrippa muttered.

Thankfully, they made it home before any traffic decided to meet up with them, and Hermione hurried upstairs as the beginnings of a full-blown argument resounded in the living room.

The first thing she did was tear off the skirt and blouse and throw on the oldest, most worn clothes she owned and collapse into bed, but once she had, images of turkey and cranberry sauce rolled through her mind, making her stomach begin to churn.

She barely made it to the toilet in time.

As she shuffled back to her room, trying to ignore the sounds that had drowned out her vomiting, she wondered at the absurdity of her situation. She couldn't stand to be like _that_, but when she _did _eat, it was hardly better. She buried her head in her hands and kicked the door shut behind her.

"This is the life," she muttered to herself, and was answered by a hoot.

She jerked up and saw two owls sitting outside of her window, staring in. Ignoring the fact that it was freezing, she pulled it open and let them fly in. One, she recognized as Hedwig, but the other she had never seen before.

She relieved them of their burdens, opening the one from Harry first. There was a joint note from him and Ron, accompanied by some Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. How ironic. She had given them their gifts before leaving, knowing that her chance of mailing it was slim, so she didn't have to worry about replying. But the second one…

She pulled off the package and opened the card first, frowning in puzzlement at the familiar writing.

_Miss Granger,_

_A souvenir of your adventures in London._ _Kindly do not add this to some unsuspecting person's drink._

_S.S._

She smiled and proceeded to open the package. A salt shaker fell onto the bed, and she giggled for a moment at the memory.

"Give me two minutes," she told the owl before slipping downstairs into the kitchen and grabbing a package of one of the many flavors of coffee filling the cupboard.

Back in her room, she wrapped it in leftover wrapping paper and attached a note.

_Sir,_

_I express my most sincere regrets at ruining your morning coffee. Perhaps this will compensate._

Hermione 

It was only after she had sent it that she realized it was signed with her first name only. Of course, not that it would matter. Unless another coincidence occurred, she wouldn't see him until term began, and she was sure that he would go back to being the same Professor Snape as always.

With a sigh, she wrapped herself in a blanket and tried to sleep, but ended up staring out the window at the starless night.


	8. 7 Earthquakes

Disclaimer: HP isn't mine. The song is _Little Earthquakes_ by Tori Amos. (I had the CD playing while I was editing and it ended up becoming a part of the story in my mind, so I decided to include the lyrics.) Evidently I do not own it song; it is copyright of Warner Music, according to the CD case, although it may now be Epic...

A/N: Wow! I'm in love with the hit count! Makes me feel so happy... I'd like to thank the readers, the reviewers and, gosh, while I'm at it, my parents, my sister, my best friend, my aunt's dog's nephew's pediatrician's uncle's masseuse. But mostly the reviewers because they keep me going!

_Yellow bird flying gets shot in the wing_

_Good year for hunters and Christmas parties_

_And I hate_

_And I hate_

_And I hate_

_And I hate elevator music_

_The way we fight_

_The way I'm left here silent_

_Oh these little earthquakes_

_Here we go again_

_Oh these little earthquakes_

_Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces_

_We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn_

_We laughed in the faces of kings never afraid to burn_

_And I hate_

_And I hate disintegration_

_Watching us wither_

_Blackwinged_ _roses that safely changed their color_

_ --Little Earthquakes, _Tori Amos

Perfection

Chapter 7: Earthquakes

It was a repeat of September first. Hermione was standing in the train station, her mother standing beside her, professional and cold once again. There was no sign of the fragile person she caught a glimpse of over the holidays, nothing to suggest that there was any sort of emotional turmoil taking place. Except the expression on her face, which was brittle as she bid her farewell to her daughter and made any notion that Hermione had allowed to enter her mind about telling her mother flee.

"Have a nice time at school," she said blankly.

"Yes, don't worry." Hermione wondered if the lack of sentiment was catching. She hoped so.

"I've never had to, sweetheart."

There was a brief flash of something behind those words that sent a pang through her. Hermione suddenly wanted to break down and sob helplessly, to pour out everything. So, naturally, she remained still.

A moment passed, where mother and daughter faced each other, one almost a reflection of the other, before Agrippa turned to go.

"Good-bye," she said, giving a brisk wave, which Hermione returned slowly.

Slowly, the girl made her way towards the barrier and slid through, back into the world that was now her home and took a seat in an empty compartment. Leaning against the pane of glass, she stared out at the gray day as the train pulled into motion.

A few minutes passed before there was a thud on the door, causing her to jerk to alertness as it opened, revealing Severus Snape.

"I can leave if you want," she burst in quickly, before he could even open his mouth. "Sir." Once again, they were teacher and student.

"Everywhere else is full."

"Oh."

Silently, she mused on the incredible intelligence of the conversation. They continued to stare blankly at each other.

"Well, then, you can sit in here I suppose. But shouldn't there be enough cars?"

He scowled. "Mechanical difficulties. And they didn't account for all of the rubbish that would be coming back with other students. I _said _it was an overly-commercialized time of year…"

He pulled his suitcase in and sat down opposite her.

"And I said it didn't have to be. I never said other people _shared _my views."

A ghost of a smile graced her face.

"By the way, the coffee was disgusting," he added offhandedly.

"It was French Vanilla," she defended.

"Precisely."

"Well, then, next time it'll be English Toffee. But it was better than _hotel_ coffee, wasn't it?"

A corner of his mouth twitched. "Barely."

* * *

Ginny sighed, staring out the dorm window. Christmas was over, and soon everything would be back to normal. Hopefully. The fight that had resulted between her and Ron over the events of Christmas dinner had been violent, and Harry had ended up refereeing, although Ginny maintained that he was been biased in Ron's favor. But at least _he _was still speaking to her. Barely.

The thing was, she realized why Ron was so furious, understood it completely, yet a reckless part of her didn't care. So what if he was a Malfoy? Well, that would be fairly damnable, but that was under normal circumstances. And it wasn't as if they had committed some sort of immoral liaison, although she was pretty sure that in Ron's mind, they were already sharing sheets.

Really, dancing a polka was hardly a sin, and she had made sure to point that out in the common room after.

She was sure that the rafters were still shaking. There was a knock at the door, and she resisted the urge to tell whomever it was to screw off. Opening it, she came face to face with Harry, and wished that she had.

"Yes?" she inquired tersely.

"I'm going to go meet Hermione in Hogsmeade, and I was wondering if you wanted to come."

She sighed. It was apparent that Harry was trying to smooth things over, but so far it hadn't worked all that well.

"Fine," she replied. "Let me get my coat. And isn't her train not due for another hour or so?"

Harry shrugged. "It's butterbeer weather."

"And what about Ron?" she added as an afterthought.

He inhaled sharply and she grabbed her cloak. "That. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"How did I guess?"

"Can you lay off the sarcasm?" he remarked as they left the portrait hole.

"Nope, sorry."

"Didn't think so."

"So what about Ron?" she asked.

* * *

Severus looked up from the magazine he was reading just in time to see Hermione glance away. He was momentarily spellbound by the way a lock of hair fell into her face and she brushed it away impatiently.

"You know," he remarked, "you're still on the same page you began on."

"Wha—oh," she replied as color tinged her cheeks. "I was thinking. You know, I do that on occasion."

"If that is the case, what is your opinion on naming the uses of mind-altering potions?" He set down the article as she chewed on her lip.

"You mean, potions that are like drugs, or ones that can be used for mind control?"

"The former," he replied, realising that she was the first one he had asked to counter with that question.

"Well," she said slowly, "isn't that sort of beside the point? Like, we're in the middle of a war and the Ministry is worried about _that_? Half of the people are committing more serious crimes and they don't care, creating another law won't change that."

Another surprising answer. He was getting used to expecting the unexpected. Especially since the unexpected tended to agree with him.

"Point taken."

"Why?" she asked, in a tone that suggested, _Why do you care what I think? _

And Severus Snape found that he, for once, had no answer.

* * *

Well, that was certainly mind-boggling. One minute, she was a silly little girl who wasn't worth his time, and the next he was asking her questions like she was an intelligent human being, or stranger yet, an equal.

Her hands trembled slightly as she put the book back into her bag and pushed the ever-annoying hair out of her eyes. The witch with the trolley strolled by and stuck her head into the compartment cheerfully.

"No, thanks," Hermione replied quickly, before she had a chance to say anything.

Professor Snape glanced at her sharply, and said, "Some chocolate frogs, please."

Once the transaction of trading money for goods had been completed and the woman was gone, Hermione felt free to glare at him.

Oblivious, he handed one to her, and took a bite of his own.

"Nice try," she commented, setting it on the seat next to her. "I know what you're thinking."

"As your teacher, it is my duty to look after your welfare," he replied flatly.

"Not like you ever cared before. Besides, I thought I told you, I don't need anyone looking after me."

Her tone was dangerously quiet, and he chose not to comment, only let his eyes bore into her.

"I don't want it!" she burst out. "Is that hard to understand?"

Still, silence.

A feeling welled up in her chest, so large it made her feel about to explode. She felt torn between anger and bursting into tears. Part of her wanted to lash out and strike him in every way possible, the other wanted to be cradled and rocked until the pain subsided. It took a moment before she was under control and then, she noticed him studying her, the offered chocolate frog still resting in his palm.

"What the hell," she said, grabbing it in a moment that was partly rebellion, partly anger, and unwrapping it with fumbling fingers. It dropped from her hands, and both of them reached down for it at the same moment.

He picked it up first, and glanced at it dubiously.

"Five second rule," she told him, opening her mouth.

He slipped it in, and she closed her lips around his fingers. The chocolate was milky and dark, kissing her throat, and she shut her eyes, enjoying the flavour…

"Miss Granger, as amazing as my hand might taste, you are sucking on it, and I would like it back."

She opened her eyes foolishly, flushing a brilliant scarlet, and slowly parted her lips. He studied the melted chocolate on his hand, before wiping it on the seat.

"Use a napkin," she mumbled, tossing one idly at him.

He obeyed, raising an eyebrow.

"How was I supposed to know you stuck your hand in my mouth?" she defended. "It's not my fault you taste like chocolate."

The eyebrow shot up further, if possible. She glanced away, feeling her lungs constrict with some frightening emotion, and reached out for another chocolate frog.

"If this was term, I might take away fifty points," he continued, almost lazily. "But it isn't."

"Damn right."

He reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could eat the second frog.

"I thought you didn't want anything. That would be another ten points. You've just lost Gryffindor sixty points."

"Except we aren't at school. So I don't have to listen to you," she replied boldly, half-wishing he would let go of her, half-wishing he wouldn't.

What was she thinking?

She peered through her lashes at him, and saw something alien yet familiar scrawled across his face. Without thinking, she pulled his mouth down to hers, and eased her lips over his. At the contact, something in her stomach began to soar and she felt light-headed as everything melted away as if it were ice cream slipping down her throat.

It lasted only a moment, before they both pulled away, and Hermione began to tremble slightly. He released her arm, and she hastily returned to her previous position.

"I'm sorry," she apologized thickly. "I didn't mean—"

Slowly, she realized he was apologizing as well, and that was what the buzzing in her ears was.

"It didn't mean anything," she added quickly, as he said the exact same thing.

The sat in silence for the remainder of the trip, and gradually the rhythm of the train racing over the tracks lulled Hermione to sleep.

* * *

"Ginny," Harry interrupted slowly, taking a long sip of butterbeer.

She stopped her mindless babbling and stared at the wooden surface in front of her. He reached over and raised her chin so the table was replaced with his face. She instantly averted her eyes from his.

"Ron's only worried about you," he continued, choosing to ignore the almost silent sigh she emitted.

She had Harry's entire _he's only trying to help_ speech memorized.

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," she recited with him. "And he has reason to be angry."

Harry rested his head in his hands in defeat.

"Yes, I know," she snapped. "But which bothers him more? The fact that it's _Malfoy _or the fact that it's a _Slytherin?_"

"I guess that's something you'll have to ask him," Harry moaned.

"Brilliant," she replied sarcastically. "Except for the fact that he won't talk to me."

"What did I do?" Harry asked his mug. "I must have done something to deserve this."

"Cut the pity," a cold, recognizable voice commented. "Heroes are supposed to be self-sacrificing."

Ginny rolled her eyes. Ah, the wonderful component of life known as irony.

"Don't seem to remember issuing an invitation, Malfoy," Harry snapped harshly.

"Oh, well, I'll overlook your absent-minded behavior this time, Potter."

Ginny remained silent. Maybe his presence would end Harry's lecture. But she wasn't particularly looking forward to them butting heads. Interfering in their rivalry was like trying to stop a dog from fighting for a piece of meat. At best, you'd come out with a few teeth marks.

Still, she didn't think that Madam Rosemerta would appreciate the tables being overturned and the dust being shaken from the rafters, so she made a show of checking the time and announcing, "Harry, Hermione's train is due in ten minutes. Don't you think we'd better go?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, still eyeing Draco suspiciously.

They stood to go, and Malfoy feigned hurt. "Aww, no good-bye kiss?"

She spun around to glare at him, but there was no real malice in his tone, so instead she laughed, somewhat harshly. Harry turned too, staring him down.

"What, jealous, Potter?"

"You wish."

* * *

The train pulled to a stop in Hogsmeade, and Severus stared at the sleeping girl opposite him. He knew he would have to wake her, but hers was the sleep of someone who had gone too long without, and he wanted to delay it as long as possible.

She was so innocent and exposed, practically the definition of delicate. Not that it showed when she was awake, or at least not often.

The stabbings of guilt that had started after the kiss had turned into large, sickening daggers in his stomach. It hadn't been planned, and it wasn't as if he had designs on her, but he felt as if he would taint her somehow, harm her in some way.

He pushed his thoughts away, and shook her gently by the shoulder.

"Miss Granger? We're here."

She wiped sleep out of her eyes and raised herself from her semi-prone position to look at him, wide-eyed in confusion.

"Hmm?" she inquired.

"Hogsmeade," he reminded her. "I suggest you get up."

"Yes, sir," she replied, falling into the role of obedient student.

She attempted to lift her baggage, but swayed unsteadily and yawned. He took it from her, and helped her down the steps, seeing Potter and the Weasley girl with a jolt. His expression became automatically disdainful, and he lifted her bags into one of the waiting carriages, realizing with annoyance that it was the last one, and he would have to ride with her two friends as well.

Well, it would be interesting.

* * *

The rocking of the carriage trundling along the road caused Hermione to feel slightly ill—or at least that was what she told herself. Several times, bile filled her throat and mouth, and several times, she forced it back down.

To take her mind off of it, she focused on Harry and Ginny. She was pleased that they had remembered her, but also wondered where Ron was, and said as much.

Both Harry and Ginny shuffled somewhat uncomfortably and glanced surreptitiously at Snape, who was staring out the window, doing his best to ignore them.

Finally, Ginny replied matter-of-factly, "He isn't talking to me. I did the polka with Malfoy and he's acting like I committed all of the bloody seven sins in one breath."

Harry nodded in confirmation as Hermione laughed in astonishment.

"The polka?" she repeated incredulously. "Where on earth did you learn to polka?"

"Dumbledore," Snape replied flatly, averting his gaze from the window. "He called me into his office at one in the morning last month to play me the Beer Barrel Polka."

Hermione giggled harder as Harry and Ginny stared at them. "And he lived to tell the tale?"

"Barely."

Hermione whooped, and much to the obvious shock of her two friends, the corners of Snape's mouth turned upwards. But the laughter was more an attempt at relieving tension, and in a few minutes the carriage was silent once again.

"So," Ginny broke in, "how was Christmas?"

Hermione glanced sideways at her professor.

_Well, _she replied mentally, _which part do you want to hear? The several occasions on which my family turned ugly? The night I spent in a hotel room with Professor Snape? Don't worry, nothing happened, I only found out that my uncle is abusive and I can't eat. Or how about the highlight, Christmas Day, when I thought my parents were about to kill each other driving home? Yeah, it was great, Ginny. How was yours?_

Of course, it hadn't all been horrible. The drink mix in the hotel restaurant had been fun, and so had the snowball fight in the park. The kiss in the train—Hermione squirmed at the thought—had been almost, well, nice…

But she pushed the thought aside. She couldn't dwell on it. He was a teacher. She was a student. It wasn't a possibility.

"Hermione?"

Harry nudged her, and she realized that she hadn't yet answered.

"It was… nice," she replied slowly, smiling at them. "What about yours?"

* * *

Agrippa brushed in the front door, running a hand through her tousled hair, and removed her boots and coat, heart set on a nice warm shower. She hated being the one to drop Hermione off at the train station, hated watching her daughter walk away without a second glance.

And the fact that she went straight to work after didn't help. She had spent the entire day wondering why Hermione was so closed off, dwelling on the fact that her own offspring was a complete stranger to her.

Sure, she wasn't the best of parents, but it seemed like a wall was between them, and it stung. Several times during the drive to King's Cross, she had watched her daughter open her mouth as if to say something, then close it again almost instantly.

She started up the stairs, and flung the bedroom door open, then froze at the sight that met her eyes.

Steve and a blonde woman in her early twenties. On the bed.

She could tell by their clothing that they hadn't gotten very far. But that didn't mean anything to her.

They had frozen when the door opened, and were now staring at Agrippa, who was shaking in anger.

"You didn't mention that you're married," the woman hissed at Steve, wrapping herself in a blanket and taking her clothes into the adjoining washroom with her.

Steve was still gazing, stunned, at his wife, who couldn't seem to find words strong enough to express what she wanted to say.

"So," she finally snapped, barely containing the urge to strangle him, "forgot to mention one tiny detail, did you?"

"Agrippa…" he began, attempting to appeal to her better nature.

But Agrippa' better nature had gone missing in action and her rage-filled other half wan't hearing any of hit. At the sight of that, something inside of her had died, and with its death a new resolve had been born.

"Out," she barked at him.

"I didn't know—"

"What, that I would walk into _my _house sooner or later and notice that there was someone else in _my _bed with the person I am supposed to be married to?"

"And I suppose _you _are the ideal spouse?" he challenged. "For all I know, you've been doing the exact same thing."

Her hand connected solidly with his face, a force that was surprising in such a small woman, just as the blonde woman stalked out of the bathroom.

"Natasha," he called out to her, and she turned to glare at him.

"Don't even try to drag me into this, you bastard!" she shrieked at him. In a polite tone, to Agrippa she added, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger, I had no idea."

"_Doctor_," she corrected, falsely bright. "And don't worry, I won't sue. I made the mistake of marrying him." Agrippa smiled. "The door is down the hall to the right."

"Thank you."

Agrippa turned back to her half-dressed husband—soon to be ex—and gave him a look that would freeze a charging elephant.

"I meant what I said. Pack your clothes and get the hell out of my house."

"_Your_ house?" he repeated, flushing in anger, opening his mouth to protest.

"It is now," she replied coldly.

In a way, she was relieved that this had happened. It had brought about the inevitable, and she wouldn't have to wonder about doing the right thing.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the familiar sound of the two other girls breathing and sighed with relief. It was good to be back, away from the squalor of living at home. She sprung out of bed with more than her usual energy and began to prepare for class. Her almost-forgotten uniform which been carefully placed on a chair the night before was now pulled on, and for a change, she decided to pull her hair out of her eyes.

That was what this term would be, she decided as she carefully drew on her eyeliner, making it lighter than usual. A time for changing.

Filled with the excitement of a new beginning, she woke up Lavender and Parvati.

"Hermione," Lavender moaned, "it's the day after Christmas Holidays. Let me sleeeeeeep…"

"So you can be late and lose us points? Like I'll let that happen," she replied laughing. This was the way it was after every break, and she knew that she would wear them down in a couple of minutes.

After about five minutes of cajoling, she managed to drag Parvati out from under the bedcovers and after that, Lavender wasn't long in following. She then proceeded to the common room, where Harry and Ron were sitting bleary-eyed in the armchairs.

"Good morning!" she chirruped, knowing the effect it would have on them.

Ron closed his eyes and moaned, "God, who spiked her coffee… I'll kill them, I swear…"

Hermione laughed, then brightly suggested breakfast, ignoring the sinking feeling she felt at the thought of it. Dwelling on it wouldn't help her, so she led the way to the Great Hall like a general leading troops to do battle. With what, she wasn't sure.

When they reached the hall, she wanted to turn and run.

Mountains upon mountains of food awaited them, and just the sight of it made her feel ill. She couldn't do it, she wouldn't, she wouldn't be able to take it…

Her traitorous feet were already making their way to the Gryffindor table.

_You don't have to eat it all, _she reminded herself. _Just a little bit. A piece of toast with some cheese on it. What is it? Ten calories? You can handle that…_

Slowly, almost painfully, she reached out and picked up the golden bread and placed a slice of cheese on it, then stared at it for a moment, fighting with her conflicting emotions.

Silly, really, that a single slice of bread could cause so much indecision. After all, what was it in the long run?

Gradually, she raised it to her lips and bit a piece off, chewing slowly, unaware that from the far end of the room a pair of dark eyes observed her every movement.

"Hermione," Harry broke in. "You have mail."

She set the half-finished breakfast on her plate and took the letter from the owl that had landed beside her, guessing it was a reply to the note she had scrawled to her mother the night before. She placed it to the side until she finished eating, then tore it open, and read the hurriedly written message.

_Hermione,_

_Your father and I have reached a mutual agreement that our marriage is no longer working and we concluded that it would be best for everyone involved if he and I discontinued living in the same house. I will continue to reside in our home in London_ _while he searches for a new place to live. I have filed for divorce and do not know how long processing the information will take._

_With Love,_

_Mum_

Hermione read it over to make sure she had read correctly. _I have filed for divorce… _Her eyes remained dry, but her chest constricted and it hurt to breathe. This wasn't supposed to happen to her. It was something that only happened to other people. Not her. She hadn't done anything to deserve it.

Mutual agreement… sure… 

She began to feel dizzy and was aware of everyone staring at her.

Tucking the letter in her pocket, she stood to go.

"Is anything wrong?" Ron asked, furrowing his brow.

She shook her head. "I need a breath of fresh air."

Which was true. Her head was splitting and she was beginning to tremble.

Trying to hide her shaking, she walked briskly out of the Great Hall and out into the courtyard, where she collapsed onto a step and inhaled deeply. It wasn't fair. It just… wasn't fair. Wasn't fair. Wasn't fair, dammit. She wanted to shriek her rage to the sky, let everything out, show herself to the world.

But instead, she watched the trees blow in the wind, felt the sleet against her face, and sat, perfectly still, until she felt her hands and feet go numb from the cold. She then stood and made her way to Charms.

* * *

Severus Snape almost missed London as he glared at the brown-haired third year in the front row. She was visibly cowering under his gaze, and he found himself wishing that the girl would fight back. What was the worst he could do to them, anyway?

Once he had enjoyed the control he could exercise over students, but now he wished they had a bit of backbone.

It had already occurred to him several times that Hermione wouldn't have listened this long to criticism without protesting.

"Did I not instruct the lacewings to be added _after _the dragon scales?" he thundered.

"Yes, sir."

"And did you not do precisely the opposite?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"I don't know sir," she mumbled.

"I can't hear you, Miss Whittaker."

"I don't know, sir," she repeated, barely increasing her volume.

"Louder," he ordered.

"I don't know sir!" she finally cried out in exasperation.

"_Thank you_," he barked. "A point to Hufflepuff for raising your voice."

He thought the other students would fall to the ground in shock.

_Let them,_ he thought savagely. It made no difference.

* * *

The week sped by, much to Hermione's relief. She didn't think she would have been able to stand it had it chosen to pass by any slower. She went through the motions of living—sleeping, forcing herself to eat, laughing at Harry and Ron's jokes. She went through the motions, but none of it meant anything. She had vomited once the whole five days—the second evening back—and although she knew there would be a long road before she entirely recovered, she was determined to do it on her own. You couldn't trust other people, she had learned. Not even your own family.

She tried as hard as she could not to think of Professor Snape and the train-ride, convincing herself that it meant nothing. But late at night, when she lay awake, she couldn't help herself, and it filled her with something so powerful and terrifying that she was left exhilarated by the mere memory.

So, when she found herself in double potions on Friday afternoon, steadily meeting his dark gaze, she was not surprised to feel the tingling in the pit of her stomach.

Eventually, she wrenched her gaze away from his and became fascinated with the place where someone had carved JM+FT on the desk. She wondered what the initials stood for, and as she waited for class to begin, she randomly guessed names.

_Jimmy Mathers and Fanny Timothy… or maybe it was Joan Marksfield and Frederic Tillingsworth…_

Her thoughts trailed off as she felt eyes on her. She looked up to see Severus Snape staring at her, with a mixture of amusement and annoyance in his gaze.

"Miss Granger," he began silkily. "Where you aware that class had started?"

She hesitated momentarily, then decided to call the bluff. "Not at all, sir," she stated cheerfully. "But don't let my poor attention span cause the rest of the class to suffer."

Beside her, Harry looked about to have a heart attack, and Hermione had to fight the giggles.

"But do you not wish me to be concerned about your learning?" he challenged, shooting her a malicious smile that quick enough to be missed by everyone but her.

"Of course, sir. But the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the individual. Well, if you believe in communism… or socialism," she babbled purposely, enjoying the somewhat surprised reaction on his face and the gasps of her classmates. "Do you agree with communism? I'm not sure yet. All the communist governments so far have been brutal…"

"Miss Granger," he interrupted, "as fascinating as the various communist regimes throughout history may have been, you are delaying the class, and therefore will receive detention. See me after class."

But she could tell that he was secretly amused and she had to hide her smile with a cough.

The rest of the class continued as normal, which was met with relief on Hermione's part. All she wanted was for the week to end.

As she was shredding a root, Neville leaned over to ask her if he'd made his potion right. Hermione knelt beside his cauldron and stirred it carefully, then, making sure to praise what he had completed correctly, explained the final steps.

Draco Malfoy chose that moment to interrupt, "Pathetic, isn't it? A pureblood having to ask a Mudblood about magic."

Hermione's back stiffened, and she raised her chin slightly as she stood to face him. He was wearing an expression of false sorrow, and she barely resisted the urge to knock some sense into him.

"Would you care to repeat that?"

Her voice was dead calm, almost dangerously so, and her gaze never wavered.

"Miss Granger," Snape warned, but she barely heard him.

Blood rushed through her veins, and there was a tiny heart pounding in her temple as something inside of her finally snapped. She had a feeling that it had been waiting for this moment for a while. Draco hadn't even opened his mouth a second time when she flew at him, knocking him to the ground.

She flailed wildly, striking him in every way possible. She didn't care if she got hurt in the process, all she wanted was retribution. She _wanted _him to hit her back, wanted to make him feel something, wanted him to make her feel something. She felt someone pull her away, and she struggled against them fiercely, but their grasp was harsh and unrelenting. Dimly, she heard Snape roar at the class to get out of the room and realized that it was him holding her back.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked.

"Only if you calm down!" he retorted in her ear.

"Well, it's bloody hard with you clinging to me!" she snapped, and he released her. She stumbled forward, massaging her wrists.

She started towards the door where she was sure about thirty students were eavesdropping, but he stopped her.

"Sit," he ordered. "Explain."

"I'm not a dog," she grumbled, obeying. "You heard what he said."

"I asked for and explanation, Miss Granger, not an excuse. It was no reason to lose—"

"You think I'm out of control?" she snarled at him. "Do you want to know what out of control is? I can tell you—"

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her sharply. "Relax you silly girl!"

"I'm not stupid!" she cried, pulling away sharply.

He stared at her for a moment. "I never said you were."

"It's what you've been telling me for six years of potions," she replied coldly.

"Miss Granger," he began dryly, "you are far from stupid."

"That makes sense. You go from telling me how stupid I am to saying that I'm intelligent."

"The word 'stupid' has not escaped my lips."

"Well, if you didn't mean stupid, what did you mean?" she snapped.

He sighed in exasperation, and she felt a small degree of satisfaction in irritating him. "I meant," he replied slowly, as if speaking to a small child, "what I said. What you did was silly. Not stupid. There is a difference."

"Please clarify," she said mechanically.

"It wasn't the smartest thing to do!" he cried out. "It didn't—doesn't—make you stupid!"

Hermione suddenly realized that they seemed to have switched roles momentarily. She was now the interrogator, making him shift in his seat. It made her feel powerful, albeit a bit unnerved.

"Do you really know what we're talking about?" she blurted suddenly.

He froze for a moment, and she could tell that he was caught off guard. "Well," he replied slowly, "you managed to successfully avoid the original question."

"Which was…?"

"Why you chose today to attack Draco Malfoy, when there were most likely more inconspicuous opportunities in the past."

"Oh. That."

"Yes," he replied in a tone that would slice steel. "That. Now, Miss Granger, if you would care to explain."

"I wouldn't." If his tone was icy, it was nothing to hers. "It has nothing to do with you."

"It does if you injure a student."

"Not to mention your prize Slytherin student," she answered, not flinching under his gaze.

"May I remind you that it is no longer holidays," he snarled, "and I no longer have to tolerate your cheek?"

"Fine!" she bellowed at him. "You really want to know?"

Standing up, she thrust a hand into her pocket and hurled the letter, heavily creased from continued reading, at him violently. Trembling with fury, she watched him unfold it and skim over it slowly, comprehension dawning on his face.

Once he lowered it to study her, she snatched it from his grasp and turned on her heel, not bothering to watch his reaction. She was halfway out the door when his voice stopped her.

"Miss Granger, I believe I owe you an apology," he said, strangely quiet.

"Why?" she replied flatly. "It doesn't change anything."

"All the same, I owe it to you. Would you like a cup of tea? It might help to calm you."

She turned to face him warily. "I don't want your sympathy."

He laughed shortly. "And I don't want to turn you loose on the Hogwarts population this livid. I shudder to think what the consequences might be."

A careful grin spread across her face. "Then I accept."


	9. 8 Melting

Disclaimer: HP & Co. are property of JKR and Warner Bros. The song was originally by someone else, but I'm too lazy to Google it and I don't have the CD handy, so we'll say the Dixie Chicks for simplicity's sake.

A/N:And the chapters are coming on fast, hard, and long, like certain potions masters when they haven't had their cold shower of the day! Much love to my reviewers and also to the readers who don't review, just because you've made it this far...

_There's a whole lot of singing that's never gonna be heard_

_Disappearing every day without so much as a word somehow_

_Think I broke the wings off the little songbird_

_She's never gonna fly to the top of the world right now_

_I wished I'd a known you_

_Wished I'd a shown you_

_All of the things I was on the inside_

_I'd pretend to be sleeping_

_When you come in in the morning_

_To whisper good-bye_

_Go to work in the rain_

_I don't know why_

_Don't know why_

_Top of the World, _Dixie Chicks

Perfection

Chapter 8: Melting

Hermione carefully accepted the cup of tea from Severus' hand and sipped it slowly, taking in his inner sanctum. It wasn't what she would have expected, to say the least. He seemed the sort of man who would rather do without luxury, but the decor spoke otherwise. The armchair she was sitting in was large and plush, and although the wall hangings were rather dark, they spoke of elegance and a cushiony wealth. But what caught her attention most was the immense collection of books. Leather-bound volumes, thin and thick, worn with time and gleaming with newness lined the room. Her hands were positively itching to reach out and grab one, any one, and simply pour over it.

Severus settled on a chair opposite her, his own cup cradled in his elegant hand. Hermione forced her gaze onto the table, where a wizarding magazine had been tossed.

"I thought wand-waving was foolish," she teased, hoping to break the awkward silence.

"Dumbledore insists that I keep up with the modern wizarding world, rather than lock myself in the dungeons with a cauldron day and night," he replied in an elevated manner, making Hermione smile. "Just as he insisted I read _The Secret Garden_, convinced somehow that it might cure me of my lack of sociality."

"I loved that book," she commented softly.

He raised an eyebrow, snorting in disdain.

"Maybe it's a girl thing," she shrugged, "but reading it always made me feel better. When it got so…" she gulped slightly, and he set down his cup, silently inviting her to continue. "When it got so music couldn't even drown them out, no matter how loud it was, I would pick it up again, and it would be like an entrance into my own little world." A corner of her mouth twitched. "My secret garden."

She inhaled deeply and took another sip of tea.

"Corny, I know," she continued, barely aware of what tumbled out of her mouth. "But it was so true. All summer…"

She shook her head, and set the drink on the saucer.

"You have no idea what it's like. They went from my parents, to these monsters overnight, practically. It was so hard watching my mum. She would stay up until three in the morning, waiting for him to come home, and every time he didn't, she would get this look in her eyes, like some part of her had died." Her voice trembled at the next sentence. "And he didn't care. She did so much for him, but he didn't care."

She couldn't finish the story, couldn't say anything else. Something buried in her chest broke, and the pain of it was enough to send tears rolling down her cheeks.

He felt frozen. No one had ever broken down in front of him like this. Anger, he could deal with. He knew anger well enough. But this was something different, something raw, a part of her that had been kept hidden.

He felt totally and utterly useless.

"Miss Granger," he tried helplessly, but she didn't respond. "Hermione?" he tried again, and this time she met his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said, grinning weakly. "I shouldn't have—"

"Don't apologize," he ordered. "I brought it upon myself."

She laughed, albeit a bit shakily, and fingered the teacup. "I can live with that. Very easily. Especially since it makes me feel better."

He felt entranced by her ability to rebound so easily from collapsing. In fact, ignoring the redness around her eyes, it was difficult to believe that she was the same young woman who, only moments ago, had been reliving her parents' arguments.

"Well," he commented, "nice to know I can do something more than frighten small children."

"You aren't all _that _terrifying," she protested as he chuckled dryly. "Just a bit intimidating… Until you add some pepper to your morning coffee," she added mischievously.

"I could have done anything to that tea you happen to be drinking," he pointed out.

"I did notice it had a funny taste…" she grinned, enjoying the look of protest on his face.

"We are not amused."

"Yeah, that smile on your face is pure disdain. Face it, _Professor_, you have a sense of humor."

"Only because you were so kind as to point it out to me before it could escape entirely."

"You're the one who told me I wasn't stupid."

"Why did I do that?" he asked no one in particular.

Her laugh echoed off of the stone walls like bells, beautiful and full of life.

* * *

Steve tapped his fingers on the dashboard impatiently and fiddled with the radio dial.

_Gotta_ _love accidents,_ he mused as he glared out at the long line of stopped cars in front of him.

Not that he was particularly looking forward to the hotel room, where he could watch television, go downstairs for a brief drink, then return upstairs to—would you know it?—watch more television before falling asleep.

His ecstasy was barely containable.

He admitted to himself that he deserved to be thrown out of the house, though he had still been relying on Agrippa's reluctance to split up to tide him over.

But still, he felt a sting at the loss, one that he wouldn't—couldn't—allow himself to acknowledge. To distract himself, he turned his attention to the radio, and to his annoyance he found it was country music. But something about the words caught his attention and stopped him from changing the station.

A car honking behind him startled him out of his reverie and made him realize that traffic was moving once again. Directing the most effective finger he owned at the car behind him, he pressed the gas pedal, still not completely focusing on the road ahead of him.

_Think I broke the wings off the little songbird…_

Every crushed look that Agrippa had sent his way, when he hadn't realized that he was looking was coming back to him.

_She's never gonna fly to the top of the world right now…_

Not if he had had anything to do with it, anyway.

_Top of the world…_

And neither was he, by the looks of it.

* * *

She didn't care. She didn't, really. She couldn't. It wasn't right.

At least, that was what Ginny kept telling herself, every time she passed him in the corridor, every time he failed to meet her eyes, didn't nod in her direction.

It had been a single moment of flirtation, a brief diversion. It meant nothing, to her or anyone else.

It was strange, the way no one seemed to notice any change in her. She had never felt more different, but it only seemed to be her that sensed it. It was as if someone had ripped out her insides and given her someone else's, complete with new emotions. Harry still ruffled her hair every once in a while and teased her about being rock-solid in an ever changing world, while Hermione smiled quietly and commented on her relief that _something _was familiar and Ron scowled and commented on her constant hard-headedness.

But whether they noticed it or not, she had changed.

Of course, not as much as Hermione. She had noticed it a while back, but held her peace, knowing how suddenly Hermione's temper would flare up when provoked. The older girl had always been a bookworm, but her recent obsession with work was, in a word, unhealthy. Since September, she had rarely cracked a smile and watching her hunched over a text book was almost painful.

It had been somewhat different in the week since Christmas holidays, but hers was almost a resigned air and Ginny wasn't sure if it was any better. Her grins were always tired, her eyes never shone, and although she did come into the Great Hall for meals now, she only ever picked at the food. It was as if some of the fight had drained out of her, leaving Ginny utterly bewildered. Come to think of it, the only time she had honestly laughed lately, was in the carriage the day she returned from London, and that had been at, or perhaps because of, Snape, a strange notion in itself.

Of course, nothing about life was ever simple.

She sighed and pushed her homework away from her. She had all weekend to complete it, and Hermione had lent her another book of Tennyson that her fingers were itching to open.

* * *

"You can stop over-dramatizing the situation, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey snapped impatiently. "I have better things to be doing than caring for a silly boy who was deservedly knocked down after years of tormenting the school's population."

For a moment, Draco was taken aback. Adults rarely spoke to him that way, other than his father, and even that rarely struck a nerve like the nurse's sharp words. His lip curled into a sneer.

"Like what?" he challenged. "Some first year Hufflepuff that tried a hex too strong for them and ended up with rabbit ears?"

Poppy Pomfrey stared at him with something like extreme disgust. "Why don't you have a look in the next room over and decide how important it is?"

He strutted through the adjoining doors confidently, but as soon as he entered, wanted to run away and bury his head under a blanket.

People, everywhere, shrieking insanely, some from wounds, some from a memory, hidden deep within themselves. A stench met his nostrils, putrid, like death itself, and a woman he thought was old at first glance clutched his sleeve wildly, and he realized that there were no lines on her face.

He turned to face the nurse, horror scrawled across his face. "I- I- didn't…" he faltered. "I'm sorry…"

Her expression softened slightly. "We all have our crosses to bear," she told him, gently. "And bear them we must, for no one else will."

He fled from the sympathetic gaze, to the nearest toilet where he vomited repeatedly until he could no longer, then sat against the dirty wall, trembling and sweaty. Convulsively, he tore at his left forearm, but it sent a shock through his body, so sudden and painful, that he was stunned momentarily.

* * *

"Go fish," Severus replied idly, and Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"You're cheating," she accused.

"I am most certainly not!" he protested.

"You have to be," she snapped. "There's nothing left in the pile, and I don't have another two, so either you're lying or not playing with a full deck."

He sighed and flicked the card across the table, pretending not to notice her triumphant smile.

It was the fifth straight game that she had cleaned up on and he was becoming desperate. The idea of playing cards had been suggested by him, but Hermione had never learned them past 'Go Fish', and after several failed attempts at teaching poker, they slid into a steady round of the childhood card game.

Clearly, Hermione was far more adept than him, although he was frantically attempting to deny it.

"I win again," she said as they finished counting the pairs, and he narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to play for something?" she added, laughing at his unimpressed expression.

"You were only lucky," came the miffed reply.

"Five times in a row," she teased. "But you're probably right. Should I deal again?"

"No," he growled, and she giggled.

There was a brief pause in the conversation, and she found herself studying his mouth. It was small, with faint lines fanning out around it, and a slight upward curve that made her realize that he was looking at her in something like amusement. She pictured him leaning forward, sliding his lips over hers…

She closed her eyes and tried to end the thought, but it didn't want to stop. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, avoiding his gaze and blaming the sudden daydream on hormones.

To draw attention away from her thoughts, she reached across the table to begin shuffling the deck idly. The pause became long enough to be labeled as awkward, and she heard herself saying, "It's getting late. I should probably go."

He agreed, and she stood to go.

"Well," she said uncomfortably. "Thank you for the tea, and preventing the death of a fellow student. It certainly wouldn't have looked good on a job resume."

He nodded his head. "You are most welcome, and, although your poker skills are quite lacking, it was an interesting evening."

"Good interesting or bad interesting?" she asked, and he smiled slightly, less awkwardly than before.

She was stalling, and she realized it, but that knowledge didn't make her feet move, so she stood in the entranceway for another minute silently, then held out her hand to shake. He grasped it firmly, then they broke the contact and she left the room, practically skipping to Gryffindor Tower in order to prepare for dinner.

* * *

"Hermione, are you sure you don't want anything else?" Ron asked, understandable now, thanks to the fact that Hermione had eventually managed to cure him of his lack of table manners, aided by some useful hexes.

She nodded, and Harry watched her carefully as she pushed a half-eaten potato around her plate with a fork.

"You hardly ate anything," Harry pointed out. "It isn't good for you."

"I'm not hungry!" she snapped, surprised at the violence of her reply.

"You haven't been all week," Ron reminded her.

"Why do I have to be?" she interjected. "There's nothing wrong with not stuffing my face."

"You're diet is less than a pigeon's," Harry remarked dryly. "It can't be healthy."

"What's it to you? At least I _am_ eating."

She turned so that they wouldn't see the tears gathering in her eyes, but it didn't stop Harry from noticing.

"Hermione," they both tried in unison, but she brushed them away and fled from the Great Hall.

"D'you reckon we should follow?" Ron asked, bewildered, as Harry scrambled to his feet to catch up.

They burst out of the doors just in time to see the front doors bang shut behind her and wasted no time in pursuing her across the grounds. When they finally caught up, all three of them were panting and doubled over.

"Would you care to explain the reason for this evening pursuit?"

Harry felt the hair at the nape of his neck rise at the familiar voice.

"Or shall we simply move to detention and deducting points?"

Snape's gaze traveled from Harry and Ron's confused expression's to Hermione, whose face was streaked with tears and eyes glaring at the three people who had followed her from the building. Something on his face softened, although Harry wasn't entirely sure what.

"Miss Granger, what is it?" His voice was still formidable, but there was an element in it that had never before been present.

She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Nothing."

"Well, obviously it's _something_," Ron snapped, flushing.

"Ten points, Weasley," Snape said without turning to face him.

Harry scowled as Ron's mouth worked furiously but no sound came from it. Snape reached out and tilted Hermione's chin up so that she was looking at him as the two boys watched, not comprehending. Her eyes remained averted from his face.

"Miss Granger, look at me."

She obeyed, shrinking away slightly.

"Now, you _will _tell me what happened."

She shook her head and stepped back. "It was nothing. I'm fine now."

"Well, to all appearances, you aren't."

"Who are you to judge? It's not like any of this has ever happened to you!"

"Stop being so ridiculous!"

The argument continued, and Harry looked back and forth with interest, memorizing the conversation so he could play it back and analyze later.

"Would someone tell me what in the bloody hell is going on?" Ron burst in, unable to contain himself a moment longer.

"Nothing!" they both yelled at once, loud enough to make him cower backwards.

"Do you get the feeling we're missing something?" Ron asked Harry in annoyance.

Harry only grimaced.

"Potter, Weasley, if you wouldn't mind leaving," Snape ordered in a tone leaving no room for argument, "Miss Granger and I have something to discuss."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry elbowed him and dragged him away.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked once they were out of earshot.

"It's no use arguing with him," Harry replied. "Stubborn bastard."

"Well, Hermione got away with it, didn't she?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Something funny about that. He treated her different in class today, too."

Ron glanced over his shoulder to look at them, but he couldn't see them. "Harry, they're gone."

The other boy turned around and scanned the grounds. "No they aren't, they're walking under that tree over there."

Ron suddenly went pale. "Harry, you don't think…"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Hermione wouldn't…"

"But what if… You never know, she _has _been acting strange lately."

"Ron!" Harry winced, but couldn't deny that his friend had a point.

"We could always ask her," Ron continued thoughtfully.

"Yeah, that would be a great conversation. 'Hi, Hermione, tell us, what is the nature of your relationship with our dear Potions teacher?'"

"You're right," Ron agreed. "She'd probably kill us. Or worse."

* * *

Once Harry and Ron had gone, some of the tension had left, and she was able to explain what had set her off. Severus had listened carefully, then suggested that they return to the castle because snow was coming down. She had shrugged, and told him that she liked the cold.

"Feel free to go in," she had said. "I think I'll stay out for a while."

He had refused, and they had begun to walk to the lake, in silence.

"Why are you being nice suddenly?" she blurted out. "Well, not suddenly, but ever since the day in the café."

The question caught him off guard, and he had to pause for a moment.

_You're the only person that's mattered for a long time._

As he thought the words, he knew that they were true. But he couldn't say that. He had devoted half of his life to a cause, to the destruction of Voldemort, only after the mistake of joining him. Since then, he had made it a rule not to care, to shut out anything that might touch him. And before, there had hardly been a need.

He had been raised to be cold, to use whatever means were necessary to achieve an end. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore believing in him after he had realized his mistake, he might still be living that life, or perhaps not living at all. Since then, he had focused on defeating the Death Eaters, brushing off comments about his well being, deciding that it didn't matter. Because to him, it didn't. He was simply a pawn, easily replaced.

"I'm afraid that I can't quite answer that," he replied finally. "But consider yourself among the privileged few."

"Oh, I do," she assured him with a smile.

A shiver ran through her, and she pulled her robes around her more tightly.

"It's too cold out to be wearing just that," he pointed out dryly.

"I know," she answered, teeth chattering. "With my luck, I'll end up in the Hospital Wing with pneumonia or something, too."

"Which is why you're still out in below freezing temperatures while it's snowing with nothing but your regular clothing."

"Of course," she grinned. As an afterthought, she added, "Maybe I _should _go in."

"Maybe," he agreed with a twist of the mouth.

* * *

After a sleepless night spent in the hotel, tossing and turning frantically, trying to avoid the guilt that his conscience had suddenly laid on him, Steve had made up his mind. Or at least, at intervals, he had.

At times, he had convinced himself of his own wrongdoing, felt certain that it was entirely his fault. It was at those times that he was within moments of picking up the telephone and dialing what had once been his own number.

But something seemed to stop him. A sick feeling at his own weakness, which started in the pit of his stomach and spread to encompass his entire body. She had no right to control him, just as he had no reason to be so affected.

Therefore, he would not allow himself to be. He was in control.

And as the tinny alarm began blaring, making him slowly rise out of the heavily starched sheets, Steve Granger firmly resolved to do nothing.

* * *

Draco did not attend breakfast that morning. There were too many images fresh in his mind, which had caused his stomach to rebel several times throughout the night.

He knew that he should go to the hospital wing for something to settle his stomach, but he couldn't bring himself to face Madam Pomfrey a second time. Her eyes were _too _piercing, _too _able to penetrate, that he knew without trying he would never be able to meet her gaze, never mind with assertion. Thank God—or whatever supreme being that was actually listening to him—for Saturdays.

Draco Malfoy, only heir to the Malfoy dynasty, bastard extraordinaire, had reached an all time low.

He glanced up at the doorway, to see something that made his gut wrench unpleasantly.

_You spoke too soon, _a tiny voice told him.

For into the room swept a stately owl, _his _owl. Which only meant one thing.

A letter from home, no doubt bearing further instructions on what was referred to, by his father, as _his task.

* * *

_

Agrippa pulled out of the driveway and drove away like a bat out of hell to her office. For the millionth time in the last ten years that she had worked there, she wondered why it operated on weekends.

But today, for once, she didn't feel annoyed. One way or another she needed to escape from the house, the cold empty structure that swallowed whatever broke the silence. Music, television, none of it worked. The silence was still there.

The last week had been hell, and it was apparent in the way she walked, the way her hair hung limply around her face. Several times she had picked up the phone and nearly dialed the number of Steve's practice, begged him to come home. Yet every time, she forced herself to let go of it and walk away.

She had chosen. There was no going back.

* * *

Hermione yanked the text book out of her bag, ignoring the dust that sprang off of it as it thudded onto the library table. None of what had happened meant that she would stop working, would slack off for a minute. It wasn't her problem if her parents had spun out of control. She wouldn't let the same thing happen to her.

She forced her attention onto the History of Magic essay before her, and began to flip through the book.

An hour and three scrolls of parchment later, she was startled out of her thoughts by two voices, one defiant and angry, the other light and humorous. She glanced up, and was shocked to see Ginny striding across the room, Draco Malfoy in her wake. Resisting the urge to get up and strangle him—barely—she pretended to concentrate on her work.

"I told you to stay away from me!" Ginny cried out, clearly at her wit's end.

"That wasn't the attitude you took at Christmas," he replied, grinning flippantly.

"Yes, well, I've had time to think it over. And don't think for a moment that you were welcome."

He raised an eyebrow, and Hermione had to try not to giggle. _This _was Draco Malfoy?

Without warning, Ginny gasped and collapsed against the nearest table. Hermione nearly ran out from her hiding place, but caught herself in time. They wouldn't appreciate her eavesdropping, she knew, so it would be best to let them handle whatever it was themselves.

Ginny shrieked something which was incomprehensible, but her raw terror was clear as day. Draco lost his light-hearted air and frantically shook her by the shoulders, calling her name repeatedly. Finally, her eyes lost their wild look and returned to normal, filling with tears.

To Hermione's shock, the blonde boy helped her into a chair, comforting her quietly. Madam Pince took that opportunity to swoop in, breaking up the embrace.

"This is a library!" she snapped ushering them out. "Kindly save these things for private."

It was only as Draco turned to say something to the librarian that Hermione first noticed the ashen color his face had turned and the fear in his eyes. And then both of them were gone, leaving Hermione to wonder in confusion what that had been about.

It was perhaps lucky that they had been ousted when they had, because Harry and Ron strode in moments later, looking determined.

"Yes?" she asked patiently, setting aside her pen.

Ron glanced sideways at Harry and muttered, "You ask."

"It wasn't my idea!"

"Yeah, well… You agreed!"

Hermione sighed. "Look, whatever you have to say, just say it because I have Charms research to do and an essay to finish."

"See…" Ron began, "Harry was wondering—"

"No I wasn't!" the other boy protested.

"Yes you were!" Ron shot back

"Yeah, well, it was your idea to ask her."

"No, you cannot copy my potions homework," Hermione replied. She had answered that question fifty times a week since their first year.

"Not, it's not about _that, _although that would be nice," Ron replied slowly. "We were just wondering…"

"Ron wants to know whether you and Snape have something going," Harry blurted finally.

"That wasn't what I said!" he protested, face flushing.

"Close enough!"

Hermione stared at them for a moment, dumbfounded.

_No! _she thought. _Of course not!_

And then, _But he looks good shirtless…with only a towel…_

Her eyes widened in shock. _I did _not _just think that!_

"See, look at her!" Harry pointed out. "Would she look like that if they… if they were…"

He couldn't seem to get the words out.

"Shagging," Ron finished helpfully, although he had turned green at the thought.

Hermione wisely kept her mouth shut. She didn't know how it might betray her if she opened it.

Finally, once she was sure her voice wouldn't give her away, she asked, "What gave you that idea?"

The two boys exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"Well, last night, it kind of looked like… you know… after supper… when you were walking… and stuff," Ron replied weakly.

"So you aren't?" Harry asked in relief.

Hermione shook her head firmly. _It wasn't like that, _she longed to tell them. _He knows some things about me that you don't. Some things you don't want to know. Some things _I _don't want to know._

"Hermione?" Ron asked, something like release on his freckled features. "Would you like a chocolate frog?"

She felt herself stiffen against her will, but forced her voice to remain light, carefree. "Why not?"

He tossed it across the table and it slid onto her essay, then unwrapped his own and pretended to toast her with it.

"You just made my day."

She slowly bit into the milky chocolate, ignoring the sudden sinking felling which had filled her stomach.

* * *

Steve strolled out of the restaurant, vaguely wondering where he should go now. He slid into the car and turned the ignition, idling the motor and half-listening to the radio. It was a commercial. More than anything, Steve hated commercials.

He turned the radio off, and the song he had heard the day before drifted into his mind.

_I think I broke the wings off the little songbird…_

Agrippa's face, white and vulnerable, before it had hardened, appeared before him.

_She's never gonna fly to the top of the world right now…_

And if she didn't, it would be entirely his fault, he knew. If he had broken her, if he had stopped her from truly flying free, he knew deep down that he would be tied down with her. Remorse, sudden and painful, swamped him.

Before he could have more second thoughts, he moved the clutch and began to drive.

* * *

"Gillian!"

The third year turned from the group of players heading in from that night's practice, surprised to be called on by anyone. Ginny winced at her painful shyness, but outwardly decided to ignore it. There was something that had been bothering her every practice since their last game and she had finally worked up the nerve to approach the girl about it.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind staying out an extra half hour?"

The brunette shrugged, trying in vain to appear nonchalant. "Sure. Why?"

"There's some stuff I want to show you that Harry's neglected. Get on your broom."

Once the two of them were flying slowly about fifty feet above the ground, Ginny unexpectedly lobbed the Quaffle and the younger girl snagged it out of the air inches before it slammed into her face.

"Why don't you do that in games?" the redhead asked, steering her broom so that it remained alongside the other girl's.

Gillian shrugged.

"Instinct. You've got it. Harry may be too stupid to notice it but your body knows what it should be doing, but as soon as you're in a game situation, you start second-guessing yourself and that's when mistakes happen."

She nodded, looking bewildered.

"Let's just work on your shooting for a bit. I'll play Keeper."

* * *

Severus stared at the lumpy mess before him, and winced. _He _had made that? Merlin, even _Longbottom_ couldn't make something that mortifying.

"Professor?" a quiet voice asked from the doorway.

Oh, Lord, a student. Why hadn't he closed the door? Or locked the door? Or better yet, used his private workroom?

He turned, shifting so that they wouldn't see his putrid excuse for a potion, then exhaled. It was only Hermione.

Of course, it was all her fault that the potion had gone awry in the first place. If he hadn't been preoccupied with her problems while brewing it, he might have remembered…

He realized that she was staring at him.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"Was there something you wanted?" he barked out, hoping, praying that she wouldn't enter the room.

Dammit.

"How long did you want our potions essay to be?" she asked, taking a few steps in and sitting on one of the chairs.

"I told you I would explain next class!" he snapped, wishing she would leave.

She cringed away. "No you didn't. I sort of… interrupted the class before you could, I think."

He was positive he had. Unless he had told that to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Not only had he botched the potion, but he was now losing his mind as well. Beautiful.

"Six rolls of parchment."

"Thank you, sir."

But she made no move to go. "You know," she said slowly, "Harry and Ron asked me if we were… you know…"

He studied her for a moment, making her blush.

"Sorry," she said. "Don't know where that came from."

He stared for a moment longer, before asking, somewhat icily, "And what did you tell them?"

She looked taken aback. "The truth, of course."

"Which is…?"

"No!"

"Good," he replied shortly. A thought crossed his mind briefly, but he winced inwardly and blocked it out. "Now if you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Oh, so that's what the smell is… Can I see it?"

Before he could so much as move, she was behind him, staring at the mis-made potion.

"I've never heard of…" Her voice trailed off in realization. "Oh." And then, more shocked, "Oh."

She glanced up with what he assumed was a horrified expression and began to giggle.

"What," he thundered, "is so funny?"

"Nothing, sir," she replied, getting herself under control.

"That's what I thought."

But he felt his mouth twitch as she hurried from the room.

* * *

Steve pulled up in front of the office building and stared at it for a minute. The heat of the moment was over, and he found himself asking what exactly he was doing. Finally, he turned off the engine and opened the door, but still didn't stand. His pride was beginning to overtake his regret.

Forcing himself out of the vehicle, he locked the door and began to stride, not entirely surely, through the glass doors.

* * *

"Dr. Granger, you have a visitor."

She glanced up from her patient, wincing inwardly. She would have to do something about her last name.

"Give me…" she paused to check her watch "… five minutes."

The secretary turned to go, but before she could, something made her ask, "Who is it?"

"Your husband."

Agrippa let the metal instrument she was holding fall out of her grasp, and it slid into the boy's throat.

"Sorry," she apologized, extracting it.

He just glared at her.

"Go on, you're done," she informed him.

The dirty look was instantly replaced with relief, and Agrippa sank down into her new chair. It shot backwards, and she nearly fell off.

Standing up, she grimaced. She kept forgetting the damn thing had wheels.

She forced her thoughts away from the chair and to the situation at hand. She didn't want to face him, couldn't face him. It would be too much…

Tears filled her eyes, and she brushed them away angrily. The fury gave her enough strength to stalk out of the office and into the waiting room, where she saw _him _waiting, flipping through a men's magazine.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she shouted, causing him, and everyone near him to look up.

He flinched.

"Unless it's in a goddamn courthouse, I never want to see you again."

"Agrippa," he tried, swallowing. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Which, of course, completely justifies your actions!"

He shook his head, almost guiltily.

"Oh, I see, you feel bad now!" she snapped. "_Now!_ Well, what about then? I'm sure you didn't think twice! Well, think twice now about coming here, because if you don't get your ass out of my sight in less than thirty seconds, I'm calling security!"

As he hurried from the room, another woman stood up and began clapping. Agrippa turned to face her, and saw it was the mother of the boy she had just finished working on.

"Congratulations," she said, walking across the room, as the rest of the people looked slightly shocked. "There's someone I've being wanting to say that to for a long time. Glad you had the nerve."

"Thank you," Agrippa replied, trying to mask her shock.

"I'm Anna Walker," the other woman said, holding out a hand to shake.

"Dr. Granger."

They shook firmly for a moment, and whatever shame Agrippa might have felt dissolved. Things were always seemed a bit better when there were other people in the same boat, even if it did seem to be floating aimlessly across the Arctic Ocean into the waiting jaws of a half-starved polar bear.

* * *

Ginny wiped the sweat off of her forehead and clapped Gillian on the shoulder.

"I am truly disgusting," she commented with a laugh. "Shoot like that next practice and you'll have the rest of us seeing the bench far more often," she advised mock sagely.

The other girl nodded, wide-eyed.

"And talk," Ginny continued. "No one will ever play you if they forget you're there."

"Okay." Gillian's voice came out in a half-whisper, as if she were afraid of the consequences of speaking.

"And whatever else, you better not waste my time," she added as afterthought. "Not that I really have anything better to do. We'll practice again on Saturday afternoon, if that's okay with you."

* * *

The next week spread by at a frightening rate, and the next thing Severus knew, the moon had completed its cycle and was once again full. He woke that morning with a feeling of foreboding, for he knew what was to come. Since meeting Hermione in London, he had curiously forgotten it, and now it all was coming back with terrifying clarity.

But when, by supper, he had not felt the burn, he began to hope that maybe the meeting had been called off, or at the very least postponed. Of course, it was not to be. Just as desert arrived, he felt it, and his fork fell clattering to the ground.

He whispered his farewell to Albus, then swept out of the room, blocking everything from his mind. He would not allow himself to betray those who had forgiven him. Silently, he read off potion's instructions to quiet his thoughts, and one of them sent an image into his mind which was frighteningly clear.

He closed his eyes in horror, trying to blot it out. If he gave it away…

Just as he reached the gate to the school, he managed to forget it, and as he apparated, all he could do was pray that it wouldn't resurface.

* * *

Hermione lay awake in bed, feeling sick. Only this time it was for a different reason.

She had watched him go.

She knew where he had gone.

She knew why.

And she knew that one day, perhaps one day soon, he might not return.

Somehow, the idea of losing him was more painful than the idea of losing her father. After all, her father was still alive, and something of a bastard. But _him_…

She hugged herself and closed her eyes tightly against the images flooding her mind, swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat.

He would be fine, she told herself over and over. But it didn't work.

With the light of dawn, she was out of bed and running down into the heart of the school, trying to push away the terror that gripped her.

He stumbled through his doors and sat down heavily on the sofa, trying to stop the shaking and the nagging little voice that was telling him he was running out of time. Never before had the desire to live been so strong as now.

With trembling hands he pushed his hair out of his eyes and leaned back, trying to relax. But it seemed impossible. Adrenaline coursed through him and the fear he had managed to keep at bay all night overtook him, paralyzing him momentarily.

And that was how she found him. Pale, shaking, and almost beyond reason.

"Get out," he ordered coldly.

It stung, but she told herself it was only because of pressure, not her. Without a word, she entered his storeroom and began shuffling through the vials on the shelves. Once she found what she was looking for, she handed it to him.

"Take some. You'll need it," she snapped briskly. "You have classes in half an hour and I don't think you want to be caught dead looking like that."

He straightened at her tone. "Might I remind you, _Miss Granger_, that I am still you teacher and you will address me as such."

"You don't have to, _sir_," she barked back, anger filling her, drowning out the relief that he was alive, "my memory isn't as poor as you seem to think it. As I only came to ensure that you were still _alive_, I may as well leave now."

"Yes, do," he replied, tone just as heated as hers. "I think you have been satisfied on that point."

"Regrettably," she hissed, slamming the door behind her before he could see the tears gathering in her eyes.

She didn't know what she had expected. Gratitude? Kindness? She had forgotten that as confusing as he sometimes was, he was still Severus Snape.

She caught up with Harry and Ron as they were headed to Transfiguration, and muttered a greeting. 

"Were you crying?" Ron asked, tactful as ever.

"No," she snapped, brushing past them.

"We missed you at breakfast," Harry commented, trying to smooth it over.

"I was in the library."

Thankfully, they reached the classroom and from then on it was easy to avoid questions.

* * *

"Any news, Severus?" Albus asked, adjusting his glasses.

He jumped, registering where he was before replying, "The Hardys. Next week."

"You mentioned that already," the older wizard said, smiling.

Severus frowned.

"Is something wrong? You seem… preoccupied."

"I'm fine!" he snapped. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Do they think I can't handle it?"

If it hadn't been for his respect of Albus Dumbledore, he would have stomped out of the room. As it was, he already felt like a first year throwing a tantrum.

"I wasn't referring to _that_," Albus twinkled.

_Damn you_, he thought, glaring viciously. Aloud, he said, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

A slow smile curved on Dumbledore's lips. Finally, annoyed beyond compare, Severus stood and strode out of the room. To say that he felt like a bastard was more than a slight understatement, but there didn't seem to be a way around it.

Ignoring the fact that it was dinnertime and the students were pouring down to the Great Hall, he headed towards the entrance, smashing headlong into a student. He looked down at the exact moment that she looked up and for a moment, their gazes held.

"Miss Granger," he said curtly.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pushing past him.

Tensely, he exited and headed towards the greenhouses.

* * *

Ginny stared blankly at the table, trying to keep her eyes open. Last night had not been pleasant. Dreams haunted her about being lost in a darkness, with only _his _voice, and she had awoken in the morning with the feeling of not sleeping at all. Usually the feeling wore off by lunchtime, but apparently not today.

Her eyes swept the room, and she noticed Draco, who was looking pale and wan. He noticed her stare and grinned flirtatiously, although there seemed to be something lacking from his usual energy. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a slight smile.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked, not bothering to swallow first.

She considered the truth, then decided against it. "Nothing."

But she didn't miss the way Hermione, who had previously been pushing brussel sprouts around her plate, glanced shrewdly from the blonde boy back to her.

* * *

Draco suppressed the urge to sigh. He was only making things harder for himself. He had his orders. All he had to do was carry them through and be rewarded.

_With more work_, something told him.

Truth was, he was a coward. More than anything, he didn't want to die. And that survival instinct was what had guaranteed his loyalty from the beginning. Listening to the banter around him, his head began to spin. For a moment, he could have sworn he was back in the room adjoining the hospital wing, looking around in horror. For a moment, he was frozen in terror before a voice broke into his thoughts.

"Draco! Have you been listening to a word I've said?" Pansy snapped.

"No, not really," he replied languidly, pulling himself back into the present.

She made an impatient noise before Blaise Zabini took over. "We're going to sneak into Hogsmeade again. Pansy reckons we can break into Honeydukes again. The owners are two old bats that wouldn't hear us if we smashed everything in sight."

Draco made a show of yawning. "You children run along and play. I've been feeling a bit off lately." Which wasn't precisely a lie.

His words had the desired effect. They looked both abashed and slightly relieved that he wouldn't be coming. None of them was quite sure what to make of him anymore.

He stood up, saying, "In fact, I think I'll go to the hospital wing now and get some headache potion. So long."

Once out of the room, he sprinted down the corridors until he reached the Slytherin common room and collapsed onto his bed in a heap.

* * *

After supper, Hermione grabbed Ginny by the elbow and led her to an empty corridor.

"There's something you need to know," she said, looking guilty.

"Yes?" Ginny prompted when she paused, looking confused.

"Iwasinthelibrarywhenyouandmalfoywerefighting," she said quickly, but Ginny caught the meaning.

"_What_? Listen, it's not what it looks like, honestly Hermione. You can't tell a soul! Ron would kill me and cut me up into little pieces or something… and Harry's been unbalanced enough lately…"

"He's seemed normal enough to me," Hermione commented.

Ginny sighed. "That's because you weren't here over Christmas. He blames himself for every little thing and he'd just sit there, staring into the fire for an entire day sometimes."

"I had no idea," Hermione whispered. She'd been too wrapped up in herself lately. Actually, since September, to tell the truth.

"Anyway," Ginny continued briskly, "about Draco. I don't know what's going on. He won't leave me alone, ever since—" She stopped, looking as if she had almost given something away.

"Since you danced with him?" Hermione asked.

Ginny shook her head. "Before that. Never mind. Was that all you wanted?"

Hermione nodded. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

"Thank goodness I can trust _someone_."

"So," Hermione said after an awkward pause. "I suppose we had better head back."

"Yeah, probably."

They returned to the common room, and Hermione climbed the stairs to her dormitory. When she opened the door, she was met with cooing from Lavender and Parvati.

"You'll never guess what you got!" Lavender exclaimed.

Hermione only looked at them through bleary eyes.

"A rose!" Parvati gushed. "Isn't it so sweet?"

She handed Hermione the token, while Lavender asked excitedly, "Who gave it to you? Do you know?"

Hermione studied it carefully. It was a Tudor rose with white and red petals and attached to the stem it bore a note—

_My apologies._

It wasn't signed, but she recognized the writing. Something fluttered inside of her and she collapsed on the bed.

"Do you know who it's from?" Lavender repeated.

Hermione paused, before replying, "No idea."

Parvati looked disappointed, but Lavender only became more animated.

"A secret admirer! You're so lucky! And I always thought you were the boring one."

"Thanks," Hermione commented wryly.

As they continued on, Hermione's confusion only grew. Why the change of heart? And why a _rose_, of all things? A note would have sufficed.

"You don't seem very happy about it," Parvati accused. "Are you sure you don't know who sent it?"

Hermione forced herself to laugh. "I don't know! And I guess I'm just… a little surprised."

Finally, they stopped, and Hermione changed into her pajamas, then rolled into bed, but not before placing the rose beside her on the pillow. As she slid into sleep, she felt a curious warm glow that had nothing to do with the fireplace on the far side of the room.

* * *

Life was slowly becoming a ritual. Sleep. Go to work. A quick meal slipped in here and there. Occasional call from her lawyer updating the situation. The days couldn't pass swiftly enough for Agrippa.

She recalled the conversation she had heard in the coffee shop. It was the only thing that was clear in the mist she was living in. And she understood what the woman had meant when all she wanted was out.

But she forced herself to make demands. The house, custody of Hermione, regular payments. She would not lie on her back as she had for so long and let him take everything. She had made a mistake—she acknowledged that now—but she wasn't going to let the damn man ruin the rest of her life.

At least he had taken her seriously when she had said she never wanted to seem him again. Because she didn't. It was hard enough living in the house they had shared for nearly twenty years now, eating at the same table, sleeping in the same bed—although she had gone out and bought new sheets. She didn't want him calling her, showing up uninvited at random moments, attempting apologies. They didn't mean anything. She had given him all of the time in the world to apologize and he hadn't taken the opportunity. So why should now be any different?

These were the thoughts that rolled through her head whenever she allowed them, whenever she forgot to push them away. But no tears came with them. She was beyond them, beyond feeling. She had gone numb and the only thing driving her forward was the steady determination that she would _not _be weak.

He was below her now. She had grown stronger, higher, and she would not let him bring her down.

* * *

The next morning, the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was the rose. It had not wilted, despite the fact that she had not put it in a vase, and she had the feeling that it would not. It rested beside her, a promise to understand and be understood, and all of a sudden the day seemed brighter, almost surreal inits clarity.

Her feet didn't quite touch the ground and all of her former anger had evaporated, along with the confusion which had followed. Before leaving the common room, she scrawled out a reply, then took it to the owlery.

It had been as brief as his, with no signature or anything to mark who it was from or what it was regarding. It only read, _Forgiven._

With a faint smile touching her lips, she went down to breakfast.

* * *

The rest of the morning went smoothly, with no comments regarding her state yesterday from anyone. Ginny shot a few worried looks at her brother and his friend, but otherwise nothing was said that ought not, and nothing was done which shouldn't have been.

It could only last so long, in any case. At lunch, Madam Pomfrey summoned Hermione into the hospital wing for a "discussion." She didn't need three guesses to figure out what it was about.

"So, Miss Granger, how were the remainder of your holidays?" the nurse inquired a little too kindly, sitting down across from her.

"Fine," she replied automatically.

"And have you seen anyone about your condition?"

Hermione shook her head silently.

"Do your parents know?"

Again, a shake. "Don't tell them, please," she begged. "They have enough to deal with right now." _They're undergoing a termination of marriage at the moment, and it would only provide new ammunition._

She studied the girl sharply before saying, "Very well. We will see."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"And have you any idea _why _this started? Sometimes there is an event that triggers it, or an emotion. Low self-esteem caused by stress, the desire to be appreciated or noticed, a need to rebel or comply with other people's wishes, perhaps?"

Hermione wondered for a moment whether or not to tell her, before surrendering her pride entirely and pouring it all out. How her parents were so wrapped up in their anger towards each other that she hadn't been noticed, except to be criticized. How she felt that being perfect would, in some bizarre way, solve all of the problems and they could go back to being a family. How ending up like this was the last thing she wanted, and the feeling that another burden on her mother's shoulders might well be the one to break her. It all came out in a jumbled mess, sobs interfering with the words which, once started couldn't seem to stop.

And once they were over, she was mutely handed a handkerchief, which she used to dry her face and blow her nose.

"Poppy, where on earth is the restorative draught?" a familiar voice from the corner asked.

Slowly, Hermione turned to face Severus Snape.

"This isn't the time for that!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "Can't you see I'm busy? Go make your own!"

He left the room, and without thinking, Hermione ran to catch up.

Checking to make sure no one was in earshot, she demanded, "How much did you hear?"

He avoided her eyes. "Just the end."

"Tell me!"

"All of it," he sighed. "I'm sorry—"

"I don't want your pity!" she snarled and a piece of her, in that moment, wanted to hit him.

"I was going to apologize for being an arse," he commented mildly.

"Well, that you are," she agreed, feeling slightly sheepish as her anger dropped away almost immediately. "I suppose now that you know, you'll treat me like I'm made of glass."

"I'll try to remember not to," he said airily.

"I didn't mean to say everything that I did," she sighed. "Actually, I didn't intend to say anything at all."

"Yes, well, Poppy tends to have that affect on people."

"You don't think she'll act all… you know… pitying."

He shook his head. "Sometimes I think that she is the only one who won't."

"I don't know, you're passable too," Hermione commented dryly.

"Only because I don't care."

She flinched inwardly at that.

_If he didn't care, why would he have apologized? _she reasoned.

"What about me?" she asked in mock innocence, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes obviously.

For a moment both of them froze, and Hermione felt as if she was teetering on the edge of some strange revelation, before he stepped back.

"Especially not you," he teased.

"That's what I thought," she grinned.

They continued their conversation for another few minutes, before Hermione realized that classes had begun.

"What do you have?" he asked, startled.

"Potions," she replied, hiding a smile.

As the two of them hurried down the corridors, Hermione's giggle and Severus's deep laugh echoing behind them, Albus Dumbledore turned to Poppy Pomfrey.

"What do you think?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I thought he was permanently frozen," she replied wryly. "Excuse me while I undergo shock therapy."


	10. 9 Stepping Stones

Disclaimer: Assuming no ownerships for HP et. al. Poem is from Tennyson's _Maud: A Monodrama._ I love that man...

Perfection

Chapter 9: Stepping Stones

The days passed swiftly, and Hermione wasn't quite sure what happened during them, only that there was nothing to mark each one from the other. She wasn't unhappy, but nor could she say that her state was one of bliss. She was simply _there_, nothing else.

Sometime during the weeks that followed, she stopped vomiting entirely, although she still ate lightly. She was afraid to _not _eat now, afraid of what she might do unwittingly, so she attended meals almost religiously.

There were some minor encounters with Professor Snape, but nothing more than brief comments in the corridors or after class—none of them personal. Of her mother, there was little news, only that she was fine, all the settlements should be completed for the beginning of August, she hoped that school was going well. "Settlements" she knew was referring to her, but at the idea, she couldn't seem to feel much. It would happen, whatever _it _was, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

And so January melted into February, and she found herself back at the full moon, wondering whether or not Snape would return this time. It was much the same as last month—she was lying in bed, eyes squeezed shut, silently trying to convince herself that it would all be all right and doing a rather poor job of it.

After hours of tossing madly, she finally got out of bed and made her way down to the common room, where embers were the only sign of the once roaring blaze, the out of the portrait hole, into the stone corridor. She glanced back and, seeing that the Fat Lady had gone, sighed at the realization that there would be turning back.

She padded through the corridors almost automatically, ducking into niches and shadows whenever she heard a sound. Each time, however, her fears proved themselves unfounded and just as she was becoming complacent, voices caused her to jump behind a statue and as they grew nearer, she felt herself begin to quiver.

"Surely, Albus, you can't keep asking this of him!"

It was Madam Pomfrey, and she was livid.

"I ask nothing of him," came Dumbledore's calm reply. "It is his decision and it is entirely outside of my rights to stop him."

"But you can't continue to let this twisted sense of duty he has to overshadow reason! It's positively ridiculous! He is more useful _here _and _alive_ than out gathering information that usually is already known!"

"I can't stop the man, Poppy!" Dumbledore suddenly thundered, and Hermione flinched. Had he ever lost his temper before? "Merlin knows I've tried, but he won't listen to me. Short of forbidding him what can I do? He's been like a son to me for the last twenty years, and believe me, I don't want to lose him either."

The anger was quickly replaced with an exhaustion that was almost frightening. It made him seem so old, so very old. Hermione's heart hammered. Dumbledore was not supposed to be afraid. He was supposed to be all-knowing, never deterred. But now she knew what Harry meant whenever he said that even Dumbledore was beginning to lose hope, and she wished with everything she had that she hadn't overheard this conversation.

Their conversation faded into the distance, and slowly she emerged from her hiding place, trembling. She continued on, but now it was with less assertion. Nothing seemed simple anymore, nothing for sure. When she reached her destination, she collapsed into the chair behind his desk and rested her head in her hands to wait for whatever morning would bring.

* * *

When he dragged himself in, thinking of nothing but a healing potion and a load of caffeine, what he got instead was the shock of his life.

There was a dead girl in his chair. A dead Hermione Granger to be specific.

After his initial alarm had worn off and he could see her breathing, he realized that she was only sleeping, _not_, as he had believed, deceased.

_That's what a night of _fun _will do to you_, he thought grimly.

Absently, he shook her shoulder until she was staring at him blearily.

"Awake now," she mumbled sarcastically, referring to his continued attempts at pulling her out of sleep.

"Explain," he said emotionlessly.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, just as blandly.

"And of course my chair is more comfortable than your bed."

"Infinitely, yes," she answered, leaning back and yawning. "You know, I'm starting to get this strange feeling of déjà vu…"

He rolled his eyes, but secretly was glad that she had not been deterred. He now felt confident adding a second name to the list of People Who Give a Damn. "And I suppose you would like something to eat."

"A piece of toast would be nice, yes. With strawberry jam if you happen to be feeling benevolent."

"As you wish," he said, shifting to the fireplace and sticking a head in.

He gave the order, and Hermione—barely—resisted the urge to give yet another house-elf lecture. He then proceeded to return to his original task—the potion.

Her eyes followed him, even after breakfast arrived, and over a cup of tea she commented, "You don't look as bad as you did last month."

"That's because," he replied coolly, "this month they had a new target."

She furrowed her brow, half wanting to know, half wishing she hadn't said anything.

"A five year old muggle-born," he continued.

She lowered her eyes and bit her lip, and he regretted his words. He had only wanted to reinforce reality, not frighten her.

"I think, sir," she said quietly, "that I owe you an apology."

"You have no reason—"

"For Christmas, when I told you I didn't need anyone looking after me. I guess I was a little… ungrateful."

He almost reeled over backwards. He had managed to forget it entirely, to tell the truth.

"Ungrateful is an understatement, Miss Granger," he replied dryly.

"I know," she said carefully. "I was wrong, and I admit it."

"Well, that certainly is a change," he commented, drawing a slight laugh from her.

"Next thing we know, you'll being doing likewise," she added.

"Now that," he said, a wolfish grin flashing across his face, "will never happen because I, unlike everyone else, am _never _wrong."

"We shall see," she told him, taking another sip of tea and smiling maliciously back.

He raised an eyebrow. "Wise words for one so young," he mocked.

"You're not exactly ancient history yourself," she pointed out.

It seemed to him more like, _Twenty years isn't all that long. _That could, of course, be the wishful thinking of a desperately lonely man.

"That would be because I'm not," he replied. "Flitwick, on the other hand, is approaching three hundred."

She giggled, looking amused in a devilish sort of way.

He lowered his voice and continued confidingly, "You can tell by his height. He's been suffering from a rare shrinking disease for the last hundred and fifty years."

She fell back shrieking with laughter. "You can't be serious! Couldn't Madam Pomfrey have done something?"

"Alas, by the time she came around," he said, shaking his head sadly, "it was too far along. She can only keep him from becoming any shorter."

"You're kidding," she said. "There's no way that's true."

"It isn't," he replied, relishing her expression. "Except for the part about his age. He's half dwarf."

"I had a feeling the truth would be slightly disappointing," she replied. "And I would like to take this opportunity to add that once again, you and I are late, and once again, I have Potions."

"How incongruous," he said.

"Yes, I thought so. Perhaps we should go."

* * *

Well, it should be interesting anyway, Hermione reflected as she followed him into the room, then took her seat, trying not to yawn.

"Spending _quality time _with the teacher again, were we?" Draco smirked, leaning across the isle.

"Oh, yeah, don't know how you guessed," she replied in a bored tone. "I mean, how else would I get passable marks? I couldn't study, could I?"

Over the last month, he had constantly attempted to cause another outburst from her, but she had distanced herself from his comments, as she had from everyone else. On occasion, she would think of him as the person who had argued so fiercely with Ginny and tried to comfort her in the wake of her mysterious anxiety attack, but it only served as a faint sort of amusement. She could see none of that in the person who constantly set out to harass her.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron hissed across her.

His reply was only to yawn. The redhead made a lunge for the other, but Hermione held him back.

"You heard what he said…" Ron protested.

"I felt a draft, nothing more."

"Are you commenting on the state of this class, Miss Granger?" a voice said from above her.

She winced inwardly, knowing that he wouldn't hesitate to deduct points in class.

"No, sir," she replied innocently. Then, as an afterthought, added, "Only a certain student."

He chose to ignore her last remark, for which she was grateful. She hadn't meant to say it, it had just, well, slipped out.

"Take out your books," he said, glazing over their brief conversation, "and open them to page three hundred and seventy-six. Miss Granger, speak with me after class."

* * *

"And a high of five below centigrade in—"

Agrippa flicked off the television once they started on the weather in Scotland and curled her hands around the steaming mug. For the first time in nearly ten years, she was taking a sick day and, despite the sore throat and throbbing headache, she felt utterly relaxed for the first time in a long while.

Over a month had passed since she had ousted Steve and the turmoil was beginning to fade from her mind. She made all of her demands via her lawyer, after stating that she had no desire to come in contact with him, but it wasn't to say that he hadn't been putting up a fight, particularly over custody of Hermione. Which was strange, considering how he'd barely said a word to her in over a year and she was nearly seventeen anyhow. Next fall she would be of age, in the wizarding world at any rate, and she would belong to no one. So she could only assume that it was in a final flash of malice that he demanded so much of her.

She could only hope that her daughter would choose more wisely than she had done.

Forcing her mind away from the dismal topic, she lifted herself off of the couch and made her way to the kitchen, to make a bowl of soup.

* * *

After class, Hermione approached his desk and said quietly, "You wished to see me, sir?"

He looked up. "Dumbledore has asked me to choose a student to participate in an international wizarding conference, which focuses on the education given to young wizards and witches."

"And…" she prompted.

"Would you accept the proposal?"

"Of course!"

"It will require intense extracurricular research, and I will have to assist you with the making of an extremely complex potion. We do not, after all, want Hogwarts to be outdone."

She smiled at the last remark, "I understand."

"Good. Then after supper come to the classroom and we will discuss what is to be done."

"Yes, sir."

She kept her face calm, although she really wanted to dance across the room singing Broadway. Of course, embarrassing as that would be, it would be nothing compared to the strange urge she had to hug him.

* * *

He found her in the library, hunched over a book, completely unaware of him. For a moment, he remained silent, reading over her shoulder.

_O me, why have they not buried me deep enough?_

_Is it kind to have made me a grave so rough,_

_Me, that_ _was never a quiet sleeper?_

_Maybe still I am but half dead;_

_Then I cannot be wholly dumb._

_I will cry to the steps above my head_

_And somebody, surely, some kind heart will come_

_To bury me, bury me_

_Deeper, ever so little deeper._

It seemed almost _too _appropriate, was his thought once he had finished.

"Hello, Draco," Ginny said without looking up. "Can I help you with anything?"

Her words were slightly accented with sarcasm, as if she knew the answer.

"No," he replied cheerfully, although he felt far from it, "we all dig our own graves, and it's our problem if they aren't deep enough."

"Have I ever mentioned the fact that I loathe it when other people read over my shoulder."

"Now you have."

"Look, can you _please _leave me alone?" she asked, trying a stab at politeness.

"No, quite afraid that I can't. Because you know as well as I that this intolerable hatred of me is really a hidden desire."

She couldn't help but giggle. "I don't hate you, I just find you…"

"Entertaining?"

"Thoroughly annoying."

"I thought you'd say that."

Well, he'd gotten somewhere. She had raised her opinion of him from thoughtless bastard to 'thoroughly annoying,' so that was something. And she no longer hated him. Progress indeed. Almost what he had hoped in a backwards sort of way would _not _happen.

* * *

Once he had left the room, Ginny snapped the book closed and buried her face in her hands. She hated this… this… attraction… to him more than the devil himself, but it seemed impossible to fight off. The harder she tried, the more difficult her task became.

"Hey, Ginny."

She jumped so high that she would later swear her head hit the roof.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that, Harry?" she snapped.

"What?"

"Scare the hell out of me!"

"Oh, sorry," he said vaguely, taking the seat beside her. "Listen, do you know what's up with Hermione?"

"What do you mean?"

Well, this was certainly unexpected.

"I actually didn't notice until Lavender mentioned it, but she seems like she's walking around in a sort of trance and she hardly ever talks or smiles, even. And apparently she disappeared last night."

Ginny fought the urge to be angry and lost. "You know what," she said sharply, "don't seem so surprised that other people in the world besides you have problems. Guess what? We all do. You can't just wake up one morning, realize, hey, there's something wrong with that person, then expect to solve it. It isn't that simple."

"I never thought it was simple! Don't you think if it was simple, I would have solved them all, already?"

"There you are, being selfish again," she pointed out. "You may be 'The Boy Who Lived' but it doesn't mean you can do everything."

"So you think I'm selfish?" he challenged, eyes blazing.

"I think you're the most selfish person I have ever met!"

Their voices had gradually risen from talking to shrieking, and by the time Madam Pince returned, they were shrieking as loud as they possibly could and she couldn't fit a word in edgewise.

"I'm selfish?" he roared. "What about you?"

"All Christmas holidays, almost all I did was listen to you moan about how shitty life was! Do you think that helped anyone?"

Before she could do anything, he reached across and hit her hard enough to send her head reeling backwards.

"That is quite enough!" the librarian bellowed, louder than both of the put together. Then, more quietly, she continued, "You will both see Professor Dumbledore now," in a tone which left little room for protest.

Glaring at each other poisonously, they followed her to the headmaster's office.

"Miss Weasley," he said, once they had reached it. "Mr. Potter. I do not feel the need to express my extreme disappointment in you both, particularly in such trying times, when unity is above all else, important."

"He struck her, Albus," Madam Pince said, as he paused to look at them.

"Did he, indeed?" the man said coolly, looking over his glasses at Harry. "Why?"

"I was- I didn't- I'm sorry…"

"Apologies do not make up for rash actions. Miss Weasley, you may leave. I have something to discuss with Mr. Potter in private."

She stood to leave, and the librarian followed her out.

* * *

"So," Ron asked Hermione conversationally, "what's your detention?"

"I don't have one."

He nearly dropped his drumstick. "Could you repeat that because I could've sworn I just heard—"

"You heard correctly. It wasn't about that. Snape wants me to participate in some sort of international conference."

This time, he did drop the drumstick.

"Say what?"

"He wants me to go to his classroom tonight to discuss details," she continued, knowing full well that Ron had heard her.

"Well, that's as bad as detention," he said complacently, lifting the piece of chicken off of his plate and resuming eating it. "Where's Harry?"

Hermione shrugged, and finished off her salad, pointedly ignoring the chicken someone waved in her face. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go. I have some things to get ready."

She chose not to mention that those "things" happened to be her hair.

She entered the dungeons promptly, and wasn't in the least surprised to find him waiting.

* * *

"You're three seconds late," he told her blankly, although his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners.

"And you know as well as I, that three seconds will make no difference."

"It might."

"Not now. Anyway, you wanted to decide what the nature of this project is going to be."

"I am leaving that entirely up to you. I would like to set up some sort of work schedule. I will, of course, be exempting you from all other Potions work, and your mark will be determined by your participation in this project. Class time will be used for researching and brewing, and I think that two nights a week will suffice for out-of-class time."

She nodded. "Any time is good for me."

He thought for a moment. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, then," he decided. "Eight o'clock. Any questions?"

"When exactly is this conference?"

"The end of July. Unfortunately, that will mean you will not be able to return home for half of you summer vacation."

"Things are still being decided on that front," she said, keeping her expression schooled. "My mother thinks it will be done by August, so if that's the case it will work out perfectly."

He nodded brusquely and handed her a pass to the restricted section. "Very well. I want you to have decided on a potion by Monday."

She chewed a fingernail. It was Friday, so it didn't give her much time.

"Yes, sir."

She knew a dismissal when she heard one. Once in the library, she sifted through books, before deciding on five to check out of the library, one of which being _Moste Potente Potions_. The rest of the night was spent reading by the dim light in the common room.

Once morning arrived, she was the first one in the Great Hall and to scarf down a pancake before hurrying back to the library. The rest of the weekend proceeded as such, and by midnight on Sunday she had made her decision.


	11. 10 Shield of Gold

Disclaimer: Do not own the places and characters in this story, unless I invented them... And there aren't too many of those.

A/N: My apologies for the lame play on words in the chapter title. I do not mean to insult the musical genius that is Sting in any way, shape, or form.

Chapter 10: Shield of Gold

When Hermione entered Potions on Monday morning, she felt a faint sense of apprehension as well as curiosity towards what his reaction would be. Surprise was guaranteed, but otherwise, she given a choice between what his additional thoughts would be, she had no idea. She had quickly learned that the only thing Severus Snape could be counted on to be was unpredictable.

Class started, and as everyone else frantically flipped through pages frantically, trying to keep from being noticed, she leisurely opened one of the many books she had checked out about arcane potions.

Once Snape was assured that no one was _not _working, he stalked over to her seat.

"Miss Granger, I trust that you have made your decision," he said curtly.

She smiled and nodded. "I'm actually quite interested in The Golden Shield."

His eyebrow arched and she felt something funny shoot through her chest.

"The Golden Shield?" he repeated, looking stunned.

"Yes, sir."

"There have been only two successful recorded brewings of it in the known history of the world." Skepticism was okay. She could deal with that.

"Yes, but that was out of three attempts," she reminded him. "The one who failed was not particularly competent, and as it can only be made properly during a time of need, it has been nearly forgotten for nine centuries, except by scholars and masters of the trade."

He sighed. "And should it fail, do you have a back-up?"

"The Polyjuice Potion," she replied promptly. "I've done it before, and I'm perfectly certain that I could again."

"_Before?_" he repeated, eyes widening, nearly to the point of bulging. "When?"

She bit her lip and glanced surreptitiously at Malfoy. "Er… It was an experiment."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed the terrified expression on Ron's face, but looked back in time to see Snape nod.

"All right, I want a full write-up on it by Thursday evening, including details on those who have made it and why each ingredient is used. Get to work."

* * *

As he walked away, he exhaled sharply. He had been expecting something advanced, but certainly not _that _advanced. Not that he doubted her ability, but if it could only be brewed in times of need…

_And what do you call right now?_ he asked himself, thinking back to the last meeting. _If this isn't a time of need, what is?_

He sank into his chair, ignoring the blatant stares being shot at him and Hermione, shock overtaking him as he realized that she might have more than one reason for making it. Truth was, someone would have to make a stand sooner or later, and it wouldn't be possible unaided.

* * *

Ginny had never been so confused. Harry—her brother's best friend, international hero, possibly one of the nicest people she had ever met—had struck her. She might have been in turmoil, if there had been an element of surprise, but a part of her seemed to have expected it for whatever reasons, so she could only feel fury. Her anger was enough to fuel her through the remainder of the weekend and on to Monday. Sometimes it would be cool and collected, remembering clearly all of the events, how she had provoked him, how he wouldn't have otherwise. But everything that she had said was true—he was self-centered and believed himself to be the cause of everything, good and bad. He never did seem to notice others' trials, and when he did it was always with surprise at the fact that there _were _other people in the world.

And slowly the coldness turned into a blinding fury, until all she wanted was to strike him back.

A part of her mind reasoned that he _was _going through a lot, he felt pressured, but she knew that it still gave him no right to be such a bastard.

And then there was Draco. Draco, the Slytherin, the boy who had made life miserable for nearly everyone outside of his elite group, and, contrarily, the charmer. She didn't dare flatter herself that he was serious, and yet she couldn't quite forget what it was like to be held by him…

She ended that thought before it could go farther. There was no use thinking about it. Perhaps he found her diverting, but nothing more and she would only end up hurting herself.

"Um, Ginny?"

Gillian was staring at her, tossing the quaffle from hand to hand.

The redhead smiled guiltily. "Sorry, I was thinking…"

She pulled her mind back towards coaching and mounted her broom.

"So I was thinking about starting with the passing drill we did last week… Do you need me to go over it again?"

The other girl shook her head.

"Good. Let's go then."

They took off and Ginny allowed herself a brief reprieve, enjoying the fact that, for once, she was feeling useful.

* * *

By Tuesday evening, Hermione had completely ransacked the library for any mentions of the Golden Shield, however brief and her report was nearly finished. It was utterly fascinating the way that something could combine the powers to heal and hurt in such a way to create an impenetrable wall, the way that poisons could be combined with antidotes. It was almost like combining black with white.

Harry and Ron seemed surprised at the fact that she planned on hurrying straight from dinner down to the dungeons—why she would want to spend more time than necessary with Snape was beyond them—but she laughed it off.

"He isn't really as bad as you make him out to be, Ron," she said before shoving a forkful of lettuce in her mouth.

"And haggis isn't as disgusting as it sounds," Ron muttered.

"Have you _actually _eaten that?" Harry asked, apparently hoping to end the argument before it took off.

"At some distant relatives wedding when I was five. Fred and George told me that it was sausage…" He paused before adding, "You're really bad at being subtle, y'know. And I would bet my life that Snape isn't on our side at all, it's all just an act."

"You shouldn't talk about what you don't know," Hermione told him icily, trying to fight off the urge to hit her friend.

"Relax, 'Mione, he was kidding," Harry said. "Want some more chicken?"

A wave of repulsion swept over her as he dangled the drumstick over her plate. She pushed it away and tried to fight the sick feeling that threatened to overtake her, without much in the way of success.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, furrowing his brow.

Hermione was saved from having to answer by Ginny's sudden but very welcome appearance.

"That was a brilliant question," she snapped, kneeling by the older girl.

"Is she choking?" Harry asked, leaning over to peer curiously at Hermione.

"Go deal with your own problems," Ginny said, the coldness of her tone enough to make Hermione snap out of it.

"Pardon my asking!"

Barely restrained fury crackled between them, causing both Ron and Hermione to shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"You've been self-centered this long, no reason to change now," Ginny commented, as if discussing the weather.

"I'm not!"

"You are! You think everything's your fault, until someone else blames you, and then suddenly you're the victim. It certainly doesn't earn you any sympathy, from me, anyway!"

"I'm not _trying _to earn sympathy!"

Their conversation had caught the attention of several nearby people and Hermione was painfully aware of the hush spreading across the Great Hall.

"Just shut up!" she hissed at them. "People are listening. You can yell all you want in private, but some of the staff look pissed off and Dumbledore heard every word."

Flushing, Harry stopped arguing, and Ginny turned and fled.

"Bitch," Harry muttered, sitting down, still fuming.

"Watch what you say about my sister!" Ron barked, ears turning tomato-colored as he spun off the seat and headed out of the room.

Harry appealed to Hermione, who was sitting two seats away, expressionless.

"I don't know what you expected, Potter, but I would say that you deserved that," she said icily, standing to leave.

She stalked off, wondering what had possessed her to call him that. He had never been anything but Harry to her.

"Hermione?" he called out weakly, but if she heard, she made no sign of it.

"Very smooth," another voice said from behind him.

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

"I will, and gladly. The little damsel in distress will be needing someone to comfort her," he replied, smirking.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry challenged half-heartedly, but Draco was already gone.

* * *

When Severus entered the dungeons, he was greeted by the sight of Hermione already bent over her parchment and an ancient book with text that was nearly impossible to read, scribbling frantically.

"Hi," she said without looking up.

"I have the complete schedule for the conference. It will take place in Leipzig, Germany during the final week of July."

She paused, holding her quill slightly above the paper. "And…" she prompted.

"The first two days are for setting up and looking around, the next three days are to be spent displaying what has been created. On the fifth night there is a mandatory formal dinner, with entertainment and dancing."

"And the last two days?" Hermione asked.

"I think that they're trying to promote either magical tourism in Leipzig or not apparating with a hangover."

"So the last two days are free?" she asked.

He nodded. "There are optional tours, but from my experience, the guides are self-important and uninformed imbeciles."

Much to his surprise, she replied, "I quite agree. Especially 'bilingual' ones."

"So no tours," he confirmed, as she nodded. "Then we have two days with nothing to do."

"There is always museums and…" She trailed off, realizing that he would probably rather throw himself off of the Tower of London.

"And…"

She winced as his gaze turned piercing.

"Shopping?" she suggested weakly. "You know, souvenirs and gifts and stuff?"

He sighed heavily, knowing perfectly well that he would be manipulated into it sooner or later. "Very well, so long as 'and stuff' doesn't include lingerie."

She giggled. "Damn, I really wanted a second opinion."

He looked at her with half-closed eyelids, apparently not amused.

"Don't worry—I wouldn't subject you to that much torture. Anyway, I was meaning to ask, did you want a journal of this project, as there will only be one write up in the entire five months of working on it?"

"Naturally. I will be reading it every few weeks, so make sure it is up to date."

"Thank you. Do you mind if I keep working now?"

"Not at all."

He settled into his chair and began idly marking his first year's assignments, a comfortable silence descending over the room. In testimony of his good mood, not a single one of the students failed, a fact that he knew would shock everyone, including himself once they were returned. Every so often, he would pause to look at the girl working furiously across from him, and was reminded of a detention that had taken place months ago, only to find, much to his amazement, how much he had changed—no, how much _she _had changed him.

* * *

_19 Feb._

_Have finished essay on Golden Shield. Might go back and rewrite it later, haven't decided. Depends on how much other information I find._

_Prof. Snape and I are going to Hogsmeade this weekend to buy supplies. Not entirely sure why I'm going, he knows the ingredients better than I do. He smiled when I asked. I like it when he smiles, he doesn't seem as forbidding… He has nice eyes, too. Think I'll have to rewrite this as well… Not to mention, enroll myself in therapy. Not that he's a bad person, it's just that… I don't know… Why am I making excuses to myself anyway?_

_Anyway, very little to say on the topic of the potion, as I haven't started other than I think I'm allergic to the dust on the books that I went through, as I've been sneezing constantly for the last week. Harry thinks that we should record someone saying "Bless you" and play it every few minutes, otherwise him and Ron will lose their voices. No loss there, I say._

_Wrote to parents about project._ _Mum says OK, Dad is silent. Wondering if he really cares… Probably to busy worrying about the fucking legal stuff. Definitely going to have to edit this… Maybe even start over… On second thought, no, I'll just make a nice copy of the entire journal when I'm all done with nothing but the project details, otherwise I'll constantly be starting over… Journals are supposed to organize your mind, anyway… Why haven't I ever tried before?_

_Appetite is gone… (not good) Stared at sausage this morning and thought I was going to puke. (not good at all…) Thought I was getting better… apparently, I was in remission._

_Thinking like that won't do me any good. Must think positive. I can do this. I will eat something. Right now. Hope the house-elves have forgiven me…_

Hermione sighed and looked down at the parchment she had been writing on, wishing fervently that she hadn't said anything but what she was supposed to. Once she had started, it was addictive. The words came out almost unwillingly, as if they were aching to be told.

Setting down the quill, she shoved the paper into one of her books, where no one would be looking, then left for the kitchen, keeping her mind focused on something to eat.

* * *

Severus shut the door to his classroom behind him, then left for one of his prowls around the castle, even though it wasn't quite curfew yet. He wanted to think, and walking always seemed to help that. He needed to think about the Golden Shield, particularly, and the shopping expedition regarding it tomorrow.

To say that he was shocked that this was actually turning into something other than an idle thought was being a minimalist, he decided, although parts of him were still convinced that it wouldn't work. Miss Granger was clever—there was no doubt in anyone's mind about that—but he had a nagging feeling that this would require sheer genius.

Unbidden, an image of her hunched over translations of ingredients sprang to mind and he remembered what she had told him only a few days before.

_Working out what language it's in is half the battle._

With that mental picture came a hardening below his waist that he—unsuccessfully—tried to convinced himself wasn't related.

_Sixteen, _he thought, more grateful than ever for his billowy robes.. _She's sixteen. You're… well… a good deal older._

Somehow, it wasn't working.

* * *

_Hello, Miss Weasley. _

Ginny nearly fell out of her chair as the familiar voice filled her thoughts.

_Thought I was gone, did you? Thought that I had decided to leave you alone? _

Trying to keep her face neutral, she stood to leave the common room.

"Is something wrong?"

She couldn't tell who was talking to her. The faces had gone blurry, and were being replaced with images from her past, images she had tried so hard to forget.

She gave an answer, her own voice foreign to her ears. What she said, she didn't know, only that she had to leave before anyone noticed anything.

Out in the corridor, the voice continued.

_You can't keep running, Ginny. Someday, no matter how well you hide, I will find you. And perhaps then, I won't be so willing to forgive. _

She didn't want, didn't need his forgiveness. She didn't want that from a monster.

_You forget, Ginny, that you helped me. And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers. _

She shuddered to think just what sort of reward awaited her.

"Ginny?"

Her heart stopped as she turned, to find that it was only Draco. Blackness rushed into her vision, and she swayed before fainting.

_

* * *

_

Hermione left the kitchen with a hastily made sandwich in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Head in the clouds, she nibbled at the food, not tasting.

"You were missed in the Great Hall today."

She jumped, sloshing burning tea over her hand. "Was I?" she asked, wincing at the heat as well as the fact that he had taken notice of her weakness. Then, quietly, "At least I'm trying."

She turned to see him nod briskly, brow furrowed.

"Sir?" she ventured timidly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Didn't you just, Miss Granger?"

"Am I… Did I… Do you think that if I tried harder, this would be any easier?" As she asked the question haltingly, she lifted the hand bearing the pathetically made sandwich.

"You would be better to ask Pomfrey," he told her, betraying nothing.

"She would give me some sort of not-answer and tell me everything will be fine," Hermione replied bluntly, catching his wince at her words.

Reluctantly, he said, "Personally, I happen to believe that things are as difficult as we make them."

"That's what I thought," she sighed, trying to hold off the tears that threatened to overflow.

"However," he continued, and she looked away, not sure she wanted to hear it, "if I know anything about you, it would be that you will do something or die trying, so therefore, it would be a difficult question to answer."

She gave a disheartened half-smile.

As if to compensate, he added dryly, "I am more inclined to trust you, than what is most likely an ill-formed, cynical notion."

"I'm glad you think so," she replied in a brave stab at vivacity, facing him once again and pausing in mid-step.

They were less than half a metre apart now, and there was an intensity in his gaze that made her inhale sharply. He took a step towards her, and her hand trembled so much that she nearly dropped the cup, although she did succeed in spilling more than a little bit more of the drink.

"Severus! Miss Granger! Just the people I wanted to see!"

The jovial voice made them leap apart as the wizened wizard approached. Brief satisfaction flashed across his features as he took in their ragged breathing and the tea splashed across Hermione's clothing.

Hermione, however, only felt cheated. She had been on the brink of some sort of revelation, only to have it snatched from her hands.

"About the hotel in Leipzig, Severus," Dumbledore announced, looking faintly amused. "I'm afraid that you waited too long, All of the wizarding accommodations will have no vacancy that week. I'm afraid that you will be sharing a muggle hotel room, unless you want to be on opposite sides of the city."

Severus and Hermione exchanged an ironic glance.

"Of course, as Madam Pomfrey informed me of the events this Christmas holidays, so I trust you will be able to withstand it quite easily," he continued, oblivious.

"Please tell me that there are two beds," Hermione blurted out, then clamped her mouth shut in horror.

Severus had to stifle a laugh with a cough at her mortified expression.

"Well, it's really more of a flat than a hotel room," Dumbledore assured her. "There's two bedrooms and flippinette."

"A flippinette?" Hermione repeated in confusion. "Don't you mean 'kitchenette'?"

"Of course," the older man said. "I'm not young anymore… Memory isn't what it used to be."

"And I'm assuming you know how to cook?" Severus asked Hermione dubiously.

"Only if you like your pancakes crispy and the pasta very soft," she replied brightly. "Don't worry; I'm sure we'll manage."

The headmaster continued on down the hall merrily, leaving them to their former conversation, but it was no good. Their moment of intimacy had disappeared, and Hermione knew that if she tried to regain it, she would only be pushed away.

He began to speak of ingredients, and she listened intently, trying to ignore the disappointment that had risen up from the pit of her stomach._

* * *

_

She came to, aware of someone slapping her cheek lightly.

"Ginny?"

She tried to reply, but it didn't sound like what it should have. It was garbled and nonsensical—a stranger's voice.

"Can you sit up?"

She nodded. Well, at least she still had her basic motor functions. That was something.

Draco helped her sit, and she leaned against him weakly. "What happened?" he asked, surprisingly concerned.

"Not sure," she whispered.

Her ability to form sentences, on the other hand, seemed to have been lost.

"Do you want to see Madam Pomfrey?" he inquired. "She could give you something."

"Like a lot of questions," Ginny replied tartly, regaining her power of speech.

"She's not too bad," Draco replied carefully.

Ginny twisted slightly so that she could look at him properly. Inches away from her was a faint scar that stretched from the corner of his eye to his earlobe.

"What's that from?" she asked feebly, tracing it with her finger.

"A long time ago," he replied, somewhat stiffer than usual.

"That wasn't my question," she told him, smiling slightly.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," he told her firmly, leaving no room for argument.

He turned his head and met her wide-eyed gaze. Slowly, teasingly, almost, he lowered his mouth to hers. Ginny was surprised at the contact, even more surprised at the fact that she liked it. His arms surrounded her gently, almost as if he touched her any more forcefully, she would break.

"Miss Weasley," a deep voice rang out. "Mr. Malfoy."

Draco pulled away as a sudden jolt of fear shot through Ginny.

"Sir?" they both replied, cringing slightly.

Ginny saw Hermione hovering in the background, pretending not to notice.

"I'm sure that you both know you are out after hours," he began, "so I will spare you the lecture. However, that is no excuse—"

"It was my fault, sir," Draco interrupted hastily.

Ginny glanced sideways at him, startled.

"I convinced her to go on a walk with me. I didn't realize how late it was, until now."

It was a weak story, and they both knew that it wouldn't satisfy Snape. Unless, of course, one of his Slytherins was telling it.

"Anyway," he continued confidently, "if Granger's out, I don't see why it should matter if we are too."

"Miss Granger and I were having a discussion," he enunciated carefully, as if speaking to a simpleton. "Now if you will kindly go to bed this instant, I may choose not to deduct points."

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison, Ginny hurrying back through the portrait hole, Hermione following her closely._

* * *

_

It was a bit odd, but Draco wasn't quite sure what the feeling was rising up slowly from his abdomen as he made his way through the halls. It reminded him a bit of glee, but this was missing the malice that tended to accompany it. He was fairly sure that he wasn't angry either, and he found that he was rarely sad. This, this was something new. Something glorious.

It occurred to him that he might be happy.

Draco's good mood lasted until halfway to the Slytherin room, when he suddenly realized what this meant. Soon, he would be able to complete his task. A sickening jolt shot through him as he realized just what he was sacrificing.

_

* * *

_

"Ginny that was practically pornographic!" Hermione hissed at her.

"It was a bloody kiss," Ginny retorted. "It didn't mean anything. You're starting to sound like Ron."

"Sorry, I guess I'm just…"

"Surprised that I would sink so low?" Ginny finished sarcastically.

"No!"

Hermione couldn't help thinking that there was another certain Slytherin that she would like to do that to. She trampled it quickly, however.

I have to get over this… this… attraction… she thought desperately.

The fact that they would be sharing a hotel in a few months didn't help her case much though.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, squinting at her.

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she replied hazily.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were in love," Ginny teased.

"I'm not!" Hermione protested, flushing.

Ginny only looked at her knowingly.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione announced before flouncing away.

* * *

The day was perfect for a visit to Hogsmeade. It was warm for February, the air betraying a hint of spring. Hermione kept a few paces behind her teacher, not quite dawdling but not quite rushing either as she relished the feel of being outside.

The day was perfect for a visit to .It was warm for February, the air betraying a hint of spring.Hermione kept a few paces behind her teacher, not quite dawdling but not quite rushing either as she relished the feel of being outside.

Since their meeting in the front entrance half an hour ago, they had barely spoken beyond the common civilities, but Hermione didn't mind. Quite frankly, she couldn't think of a word to say, even in the event that he had been in the least interested in conversing with her and she didn't want to make a fool of herself by making a comment which would do nothing to highlight her intelligence.

She could tell from the corners of her eyes that other students taking advantage of the Hogsmeade weekend were eyeing them curiously, so she did her best to look as though she didn't notice their piercing stares. So distracted by her determination to ignore them was she that she managed to completely miss the sign announcing the store of ingredients and Snape had to grab her by the arm to get her attention.

"Miss Granger, if you would care to remove your head from the clouds and prepare to _work_ it would be appreciated," he hissed at her, dragging her through the door.

It was only then that she noticed the tense lines in his face.

Knowing better than to argue with that tone, she replied, "Yes, sir."

He seemed to regain some composure as he rattled off the list to the shopkeeper, and Hermione dared to glance around the room. This was one of the stores off-limits to students, much to her disappointment, although she was beginning to see why.

Jars with putrid-looking liquid in them decorated the walls, rows divided the shop with containers of ingredients reminiscent of the bulk section of a supermarket, and painted on the ceiling were grotesque images depicting various transformations. Swallowing bile that rose up in her throat, Hermione concentrated on Professor Snape's dealings with whom she presumed was the owner.

"Strange ingredients to request, Severus," the man commented in a nasal voice, brushing dirty locks of hair from his pasty face. "What potion, pray, is this for?"

"I don't believe that I requested an interrogation, Briggs," the other man snapped, "just the ingredients. Of course, if that's too much trouble I can always go to London."

Muttering that none of the retailers in London were half as good as him, the hunched form of Briggs scampered into the back room, reappearing moments later with several vials which were packed into a box and packaged as Snape paid. Just as he was about to usher Hermione out of the store, the other man stopped them.

"Students aren't allowed," he half-whispered hoarsely, staring at her in a manner which chilled her to the bone.

"She's with me," Snape announced, standing next to her and nudging her towards the door.

Once they were outside, he handed her the package and muttered, barely moving his lips, "Take this and don't lose it. The Dark Lord isn't stupid. He knows that these ingredients combined can only be used for one thing."

"But if it's such an arcane potion…" she said, attempting to imitate his discrete way of speaking.

"It has the potential to enable someone to destroy him," came the careful reply. "He knows."

She was about to reply, when his hand suddenly seized her arm, ending their conference. A moment later, they were standing next to the entrance of Hogwarts.

"What was that for?" she snapped, gathering her bearings.

His mouth tightened. "Death Eaters."

* * *

It had been a stupid thing to do, he knew. If they had seen him, which he doubted but was still possible, he would be marked down for suspicion. Not good, considering he was already being watched a more closely than he would like.

The move had been too fast, too uncalculated. It wasn't as if they would try anything in broad daylight in the middle of Hogsmeade. But the fear that had hit him had been unlike anything that he had been expecting or used to. He had panicked and, in one swift, protective movement had made the one sure-shot move to safety.

"You mean they were there?" Hermione asked, eyes widening in horror.

"I hate to tell you this," he replied sarcastically, "but I'm one of them. And they don't live in little hidey-holes. They have lives. They're like normal people."

"Then you can't be one of them," she replied practically, a glint of humour in her eyes.

"And why would that be?" he asked impatiently, waiting for the attempt at justification.

"You don't have a life."

"Pardon me…" He trailed off seeing the wicked grin on her face.

"You shouldn't take everything so personally," she teased. "And maybe get a hobby. _Then _you can say that you're a Death Eater."

He attempted his normal cold look at her, but it didn't work. Even if his mouth didn't smile, his eyes were no longer the pitiless black tunnels they had once been.

"Miss Granger," he began.

"Professor Snape?" she replied, batting her eyelashes almost flirtatiously.

He laughed before continuing, "You should begin working on the potion."

"That would be the reasonable course of action. Would you care to escort me to the dungeons, good sir?"

He offered his arm and bowed mockingly. "Why certainly, fair lady."

In perfect imitation of posh accents, they carried on their pompous conversation as they strolled across the lawn and through the castle. To the casual observer who was too distant to hear the words spoken, it might have seemed like something else was taking place, and though both of them would deny it in earnest, the casual observer might be closer to the truth than either of them realised.

* * *

"Are you sure you like the green hat better?" Ginny asked wistfully, looking longingly at the pink one on the stand.

"Green doesn't clash with your hair," Draco replied frankly.

"I know, but pink is so much more—"

"Girly?" he cut in, making her laugh.

"Fine, I'll get the green one," she sighed, making a move towards the cash register.

"Here, let me pay," he said, offering her a few galleons.

She stiffened abruptly. "I have enough money for _this_."

"I know, and if you were rich, I would be doing the same thing."

Shaking her head and smiling, she accepted the money and went to pay.

Draco lounged by the magazine stand, waiting for her, and relishing the shocked stares that they were receiving. Across the room, Parvati was whispering to Lavender and looking scandalized, as someone else dropped whatever they were holding with a resounding thud.

Actually, the fact that Ginny had accepted his proposal to spend the day in Hogsmeade with him had almost caused him to drop something as well. Yes, they had exchanged saliva—once—but that didn't mean much. He had a feeling that she'd done a little bit more with some of the other boys she had dated.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked once she had returned.

"Sure. But I'm paying this time."

"No, I will. Really."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Fred and George send me lots of money. I'm not really that bad off."

"I believe you, but I'm still paying."

She laughed and relented. "If you insist…"

"I do," he replied.

* * *

Hermione stared at her plate, pushing the food around, unwilling to touch it. She glanced up at the High Table and met Professor Snape's gaze.

"Eat something," he mouthed at her.

She rolled her eyes, but began obediently sawing off a bite-sized piece of steak, trying not to wince at the scent that drifted into her nostrils and focussing on the conversation around her rather than the texture of the meat in her mouth.

Next to her, Harry and Ron, the latter having forgiven the former to all appearances, were arguing with Ginny, once again, about Draco.

"Ginny, everybody saw you!" Ron exclaimed. "Apparently, you were all over him."

"I don't care about _everybody_," Ginny replied snarkily.

"You do realise that this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about here?" Harry barked out. "Blonde, pale, son of a Death Eater, evil…"

"Since when is a person's character defined by their parents?" she challenged. "You heard what Sirius said that one time two summers ago. You saw the painting of his mother."

"Don't talk about him," Harry hissed with barely controlled anger.

"Why not?"

Hermione closed her eyes and waited for the minor explosion. Despite her own frequent irritation towards Harry, she knew that the loss of Sirius had hit him hard and it was part of the reason for his frequent outbursts.

"Maybe you should stop arguing," Hermione tried, knowing that her intervention would be to no avail. "It's Ginny's life, not…"

She trailed off at the sound of familiar laughter and turned her head to the High Table slowly. Severus's head was thrown back, and the rest of the staff clearly thought that he had gone mad.

The rest of the Hall had frozen too, and was looking around, stunned as for the first time in living memory, their Potions Master not only cracked a smile, but outright laughed.

"No," he sputtered at the mystified face of Minerva McGonagall, "you were definitely mistaken."

* * *

Later that night, Hermione found herself knocking at the door to Professor Snape's private rooms. She wasn't entirely sure what had brought her there, only that the conversation had run dry in the Gryffindor common room and she was curious.

The door opened, and he peered out before sighing, "I might have known."

The words didn't hold any real hostility towards her, only a faint irritation at being disturbed.

"Did you want something?"

The door opened the rest of the way, inviting her inside.

"Only the answer to the question that I, along with the rest of the school, am wondering about."

A faint smile played across his face as he took a seat in one of the armchairs and gestured for her to do the same.

"I'll never forget the look on Minerva's face," he said, chuckling softly.

"It certainly came as a surprise to most," Hermione replied. "But why did you do it?"

"She has a particularly well-hid fondness for gossip and happened to see—but not hear—the events of today," he related, relishing the mix of amusement and horror that dawned on her face. "She chose to confront me about it over dinner."

Hermione giggled. "She didn't!"

"With the entire staff listening in," he added, feigning an expression of displeasure.

He didn't add that part of the laugh had been forced, that it had not been completely honest. Because the truth was slowly dawning on him.

He cared. But neither she, nor anyone else, could ever know.

She interrupted his thoughts by saying, "What about a toast, then?"

"A toast?" he repeated startled. But then again, there were many things that startled him when it came to Hermione Granger.

"Not with alcohol," she assured him. "Unless you want to of course."

"But why?"

"To putting mindless gossips in their place. And," she added, conjuring up a deck of cards, "I'm willing to attempt poker again, if you are. Just no stakes."

"If I were you, I wouldn't gamble either," he commented dryly before ordering butterbeer into the fire.

She flicked the Queen of Hearts at him, replying in mock sorrow, "Have you no faith in me?"

"In cards, no."

"I wasn't that bad at Go Fish," she protested. "And I know for a fact that I'm going to win this game."

"I suppose it's time you were taught that being a know-it-all doesn't make you all-knowing," he answered with a smirk as he began to shuffle the deck.

Their banter continued through several games, all of which Hermione lost miserably, time completely forgotten.

Some time, a few hours later, when the card game had ceased, Hermione blurted out, "Are you ever scared?"

He gave her one of his unfathomable stares before replying quietly, "Yes."

"Good."

"How is that a good thing?" he asked, bewildered.

"It means that you're human."

She looked so alone, curled up on the oversized chair, hair falling around her face in dark waves, hiding her expression. She raised her head, and despite the fact that the only light cast was from the fading embers in the fireplace, he could see that unshed tears glittering in her eyes.

Mutely, he reached across the coffee table and handed her his handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, blowing her nose and dabbing at her eyes. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's all right." His voice was hoarse with emotion, and he longed to reach across and touch her, but he didn't dare.

She solved the problem by taking his hand in hers and pressing it in a silent thank you.


	12. 11 Gambling

Disclaimer: Only dabbling... Sadly. I'd move in full time with the characters if I could. However, I bow down to JKR's far superior claims.  
A/N: An ED relapse warning for this chapter. If this has the potential to upset you, please use your own discretion in reading.

Perfection:

Chapter 11: Gambling

Although at timesthey seemed to drag on forever, the days passed, almost undetected, winter melting into the mild days of spring, until Ginny was no longer counting the months until summer, but the weeks. Harry and Ron had gradually given up hope of her coming to her senses and she barely talked to them now. In fact, at times it seemed that she had become invisible. She still had the occasional conversation with Hermione, but as time wore on and the older girl became more and more involved in her project, they too began to cease. The other girls in her year had become cold and distant because of her apparent relationship with Draco Malfoy, but much to her surprise, Ginny didn't mind.

Draco was interesting and willing to listen to whatever she had to say, whether the topic was dress robes or schoolwork, and their friendship blossomed at an unexpected rate, although for the most part that was all they were. True, there had been more snogging since the night they had been found by Professor Snape and the scandalous Hogsmeade incident, but it was more because they enjoyed the reactions of whoever happened to interrupt than actual attraction.

Or so Ginny tried to convince herself.

None of the teachers attempted to intervene in the relationship, partly because they didn't want to cross the Weasley temper and the Malfoy spite and partly because, as had been commented on more than once, the change in Draco was remarkable. True, for the most part he was still unbearable and no sane Gryffindor would remain in the same room as him by choice, but he stopped deliberately seeking out victims and began keeping many of his snide remarks in check. Who would have known that the little Weasley girl could work such miracles?

What went unseen was the heaviness inside him that threatened to drag him down and made him want to stay in bed, hiding beneath the covers, the fear that kept him awake at night trembling, although he would never tell a soul, the hopelessness that was more terrifying than anything else he could dream of enduring.

Ginny was the only one around often or long enough to notice anything wrong, and asked him about it once or twice, but when his mouth tightened and he snapped at her, she stopped. They all had secrets, and she knew that sometimes it was best to keep it that way. She certainly wasn't about to mention _hers_, although she had considered it once or twice. At best he would pity her; at worst he would think that she was mad.

And she wasn't about to jeopardize the most important friendship of her life.

* * *

"Hermione, would you mind if I looked at your journal?" 

Her hand froze in midair as she reached towards another ingredient.

"Can I—do you mind if I make some revisions first?" she asked, voice unnaturally high.

Each entry began with the determined purpose of discussing the potion, and _only _the potion, and each entry deviated more sharply from the original intention. Yes, she discussed it, but sooner or later things that she had kept bottled up inside would pour out unbidden and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't stop them.

"I don't want to _read_ it," he assured her. "Only make sure that it has been kept up-to-date."

With a sigh of relief, she bent down and dug it out of her bag, handing it to him. He leafed to the back sheet, checked the date, then returned it before turning back to his papers.

"Severus?" she ventured after a moment.

He glanced up.

"Thanks," she told him with a small smile, which he returned.

When they had first begun to be on first name terms, Hermione wasn't completely sure. She had noticed some time in the middle of March that he was no longer calling her Miss Granger;then a few weeks later, she caught herself calling him Severus. It was only in private, of course, and he hadn't rebuked her for it, so either he didn't mind or hadn't perceived it.

She had a feeling that their late-night meetings, which were becoming more and more frequent, might have something to do with it. Sometimes, when she had worked on the potion longer than intended, he would walk her back to Gryffindor tower, always unconsciously taking the long way and being caught by Filch on more than one occasion. Other nights, they would sit in his private chambers playing card games that Hermione usually lost and drinking tea by the pot, completely unaware of how much time had passed until the sunrise shone through the window. Those times were the best, when talk penetrated the games and she learned more about him than she had ever dreamed possible.

They would exchange family stories, and Hermione began to feel grateful for the fact that her parents had managed to bear each other for as long as they had without resorting to the kind of blind venom that he had played witness to. Despite the fact that he mocked them at every opportunity, it was plain, to her, at least, that the memories still troubled him more than he would care to admit.

Eventually, the day in the coffee shop was mentioned, and they both began to assess the people she had been spending the day with.

"My childhood friends," she commented, dealing for another hand of poker. "Hard to imagine, isn't it?"

"They seemed like thoroughly pleasing company," he replied acidly.

"I know," she replied, eyes sparkling. "They left me with _you_. But that one girl—Jean, I think—she wasn't bad. I had never met her before." Hermione shrugged. "Probably never will again. Oh well."

She picked up her hand and scowled menacingly at her cards.

"How many should we pick up?" he asked.

She studied the cards and smiled inwardly. Almost a royal flush. Of Diamonds. All that she needed was the Jack.

Keeping her face smooth and passive, she replied, "Three."

His brow furrowed slightly. She always insisted on going entirely through the deck.

"The stakes?" he asked, more out of habit than anything. She always refused to bet.

A corner of her mouth curved upward as she thought. Chances were, nothing he had would be as good as hers, but still she was reluctant to bet anything material. Gambling, she had been taught, never paid off in the end. Finally, she decided and looked at him smugly.

"A kiss."

He raised an eyebrow in question.

She laughed at his expression. "It was in a book I read once… Well, actually, I didn't read it, my mother left it lying around and I happened to pick it up and read a few pages out of curiosity… Only the stakes were somewhat higher, but I didn't think you would like that."

"And if I win?"

"It's your choice whether or not you collect," she told him, wondering exactly why her mouth was betraying her so mercilessly.

Setting down her five of spades, she picked up the next card and her eyes widened. The jack of diamonds. Triumph filled her. She knew that, no matter what, she had won. Her feeling of victory was quickly overcome by terror. She had set the stakes—he would expect her to collect.

The only thought that crossed her mind as she revealed the straight was cursing herself for not shuffling the deck properly.

Yet at the same time, a tiny part of her was very, very glad.

He was studying her closely now, wondering if she had meant what she had said, waiting. Sucking in a lungful of air, she leaned forward and awkwardly mashed her lips against his, then drew back a few inches. Dissatisfied, she tried again, and this time it was more like what it was meant to be. _This_ time, his mouth cooperated with hers, and their lips were easing over each other's, gently at first, then more fiercely as she felt his hands slip around her waist. Abandoning all thoughts of propriety, she rested her hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer until she was on the chair with him, straddling his legs in a way that might have embarrassed her if it hadn't been for the heat that began in her stomach and spread downwards.

* * *

Somewhere in the mess that was his mind, a thought surfaced. What did he think he was doing? One thing tended to lead to another, and although it was extremely appealing at that moment, it would only complicate things. Because, however irritating it might be, she _was _his student. 

Reluctantly, he released her and whispered hoarsely, "I thought that the wager was for _a _kiss."

She blushed and replied breathlessly, "The first one was practice."

"Ah… I see. And the second?" _Had that been practice, too?_

"I sincerely hope that it made up for the inadequacy of the last."

He remained silent, trying to sort out his confusion.

"If you want me to put it in plain English," she continued, "if I hadn't wanted to do it, I wouldn't have, Severus."

A part of him knew that. The same part that knew that if he had wanted to prevent it, he would have.

_Face it, _he told himself. _You more than like her. You—_

He snipped off the end of the thought, but the frazzled ends came to him, nonetheless.

Before he could open his mouth to further embarrass himself, she changed the topic. "It's getting late. I should go."

"You should," he agreed, noticing that she didn't say she _wanted _to. "And I will escort you."

They walked silently and unsurely to the portrait hole, neither willing to break the silence and ruin the fragile understanding that they had come to.

She said the password, and the hidden door swung open. Before disappearing inside, she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek, leaving in her wake one very perplexed potions master.

* * *

As Hermione changed, careful not to awaken the two other girls in the room, and sank into bed, she smiled to herself, drawing on the memory of the evening. Of course, it would have been better had it not been because of a bet, but it would have to do. 

She sighed audibly, and Lavender muttered groggily, "Where were you?"

"Nowhere. Go to sleep," Hermione ordered.

It could be assumed that the other girl obeyed because there was no more said from her end of the room, and the silence left Hermione to her fantasies, which soon wormed their way into her dreams.

* * *

_She was running… Running… A maze of stone corridors and flagstones surrounded her; dark and dank like the Chamber, even though this was far worse. A presence that she knew far to well was there with her, hunting her, surrounding her and she knew that sooner or later she would have to surrender or die._

_And then, suddenly, she was sitting in the written part of her DADA exam, trying to name the picture of a creature that she should know and it's squinty little eyes gradually turned to slits that glowed red and there were snakes everywhere. Snakes. Not just garden snakes, but pythons and rattlesnakes and cobras, snakes that would strangle you or poison you if you moved the wrong way, and they were hissing instructions…_

Ginny woke up to someone shaking her. Her throat was burning and she realised that she had been screaming. She stood up and sprinted to the nearest lavatory, brushing aside whoever it was that had woken her up, and vomited, sitting next to the toilet while she continued shaking for a long time afterwards.

* * *

The day of the Potions exam, Hermione let herself think smug thoughts about her classmates that would have to write it. As she pointedly ignored the whipped cream in front of her while eating the waffle dry, she savored the feeling of not having to work while they did, for once. 

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Ron asked teasingly, flicking a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "It could be fun…"

"Which is why I must find myself declining with great regret," she replied haughtily, setting down her fork and taking a sip of juice. Something didn't quite feel right. The fragments of a strange dream which she couldn't quite remember clung to the outer edges of her mind like cobwebs, making her feel somewhat queasy.

"So what _are _you going to do all morning?" Harry asked, rearranging the sausage on his plate before picking on up with his hands and chewing obviously.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with your food before eating it?" she chastised him, feeling the sudden need to look away from the table, then added in reply, "And I'll be revising for transfiguration, anyway, so you needn't be envious."

With a hurried farewell, she stood up and left the Great Hall, her small figure losing itself in the people milling around the entrance, nervously discussing exams. Her mind had already left the entranceway and was upstairs with her notes as her feet moved automatically to Gryffindor Tower.

But, as she passed the girls toilets, she turned, almost automatically, and entered one of the stalls. She stood, staring at the toilet bowl for nearly a full minute, then stuck her fingers down her throat and forced herself to empty the contents of her stomach. As she straightened, she felt a rush of euphoria and lighter than she had in months. In her mind, she mocked all of them for thinking that there was something wrong with this. There wasn't. How could anything that made her feel so… so… free… be as horrible as they had made it out to be?

With contempt, she left the washroom and continued to walk towards the Common Room, feeling something close to tranquility.

* * *

Ginny fidgeted slightly as her paper was picked up, waiting for the announcement that would free them. It wasn't that the test had been difficult—that was the advantage of studying with someone who was a year ahead of you—but she wanted to escape from the atmosphere of stress that hung over the room as soon as possible.

Through the window, she could see the golden light that illuminated the world and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was already basking in the sun rather than at her desk in the freezing castle, flexing her fingers to keep them from turning blue. Finally they were turned loose and she joined the herd of students all but sprinting away from their seats, to resume the constant studying that they had been doing for the past month.

Half an hour later found her reclining under a tree, an open textbook in front of her, gazing blankly across the lake.

"Hey, Gin."

She twisted to look up at him as he dumped his bag on the ground and flopped down next to her.

"Hello."

"So how was it?" he asked, grinning. "Did my superior tutoring pay off? Or did you get Granger to help you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "If I had asked, I don't think that she would have heard me. She hasn't even mentioned what she's doing, she answers all the questions really vaguely. D'you have any idea?"

He laughed, almost harshly. "I don't think she's said more than two words to me since she attacked me in January… Reckon I deserved that."

Ginny looked at him fondly. "I'd say you did too… But I'm not complaining about her, I might actually get a half-decent potions mark this year."

He patted her head teasingly. "I never had to worry about that."

* * *

One hundred and twenty-seven exams done, five hundred and thirteen to go. Over one seventh done. Somehow he would manage it. At least by now it was becoming automatic. He no longer had to think while marking, his pen formed the check marks and x's on its own, so he was free to let his mind wander. 

In an hour, Hermione would be coming to work on her potion, and then he could stop this monotonous activity for the more satisfying one of watching her accomplish something. There was a sort of admiration for her on his part—she would go worlds farther than he ever would and watching her in the process was almost therapeutic.

But until then, there were tests to mark and anticipation would only make the time pass more slowly.

* * *

The afternoon was almost blissful. Life, it seemed, couldn't be more perfect. She was back, she was alive, all was the way it was suppose to be. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and there was something glorious about the light-headedness she was experiencing that made her feel like she would never be able to eat again. 

Not that that was a drawback or anything.

She had breezed through her notes, relishing how there had been no need to stop for a lunch break, and now she was relaxing in an arm chair, skimming over them once more before going down to work on her potion. When everyone else began coming back from supper, she would leave.

Soon, the unmistakably loud chatter began to filter through the portrait hole, and she closed her books, packing them away before standing to leave. But as she did so, a sudden image of Severus flashed across her eyelids, and she knew that, without a doubt, he would think that she was weak. For a moment, self-disgust filled her, before she became angry.

What did he know about it? He had never felt the sickening feeling that came after consuming food, nor had he ever experienced the repulsive sensation of forcing the terrifying substance down his throat. He couldn't understand. The anger was enough to make her move forward and give her the courage to face him, but deep down she knew that she wouldn't let him know. His good opinion of her was still one of the most important things in her life.

* * *

Luckily, he seemed not to notice. He had spent most of his day marking, it seemed, and the only thing he felt was relief at being freed, however briefly. 

"Better you than me," she laughed when she saw the stack of papers he had to go through.

He narrowed his eyes and told her to get to work.

As she added ingredients, they carried on one of their teasing conversations, light-hearted, albeit somewhat forced on Hermione's side. But eventually, he asked the inevitable question.

"So, how was supper?"

She froze momentarily, and he caught it, as she knew he would.

"Is everything all right?" he asked with uncharacteristic concern.

"Yes," she snapped, far too quickly and keeping her eyes averted.

"You didn't go, did you?" he pressed. "And lunch?"

"What's it to you?" she replied, shrinking away from him slightly, but the anger in her eyes was far from receding.

"A good deal, as a matter of fact," he replied, barely keeping his tone normal. "I won't let you throw your life away."

"I'm not throwing it away!"

"By depriving yourself of something you need to survive?" he challenged. "It's practically suicide!"

"What do you know about it? It's not like I woke up one morning and decided, today I'm going to fuck myself up, hey, maybe I'll stop eating… Or instead just puke up everything I _do _eat instead! It doesn't work like that."

"Intentional or not, it's self-destruction!"

"You wouldn't understand!"

"Try me."

She froze, their shouts still echoing off of the walls, suddenly realising precisely who she was talking to. This was a man who had been to hell and was still working his way back. Maybe he _did _understand.

Quietly, she replied, "Okay. I will."

He swallowed hard. "Put away the Shield. You can work on it later. If you come to my rooms, I'll explain."

Had it been a less serious situation, she might have teased him or tried to relieve some of the tension, but something in his face told her not to push him, so without a fuss, she obeyed.

Once they were settled into his quarters, sitting opposite each other in the living room, he began.

* * *

It had been a long time since he had spoken this long without interruptions. At first, he had meant it only to show Hermione how one thing could lead to another, but soon he was pouring out things that had remained unspoken and buried under the layers of years. After a while, he began to almost enjoy telling his story and tried to make the words that told it more captivating, making his world come alive for her. 

He spoke of his school days, how he had been an outcast, shunned by the world, how even his own parents seemed to reject him, too immersed in the unhappiness that an early marriage had created to have time for their only son, and how he had turned the pain in on himself. He showed her the faded scars on his arms where he used to scorch himself with the tip of his wand, as if it were some sort of retribution for being Severus Snape. He told her about why he had joined the Death Eaters in the first place—the falsely created sense of belonging, the idea that maybe it would make his father proud—and how the illusion began to fade as the life became more and more vicious and empty, and the harder he tried to convince himself that nothing was wrong the harder it became, until the night that he had watched a fellow Death Eater be tortured to death. The following day, he had come to Dumbledore, after hours of vomiting in horror, and begged to be forgiven. That was when he began to see that trust with many of them would have to be earned.

When he stopped talking, he looked up and was surprised to see the tears that were pouring down her face. Without a word, she walked around the coffee table, sat down beside him, and wrapped her arms around him.

"You're the bravest person I know," she whispered to him, burying her face in his shoulder.

He laughed somewhat dryly. "How you arrived at that conclusion, I don't know."

"You were strong enough to change, which is more than most people who were there did."

He shook his head and sighed, smiling slightly. "I suppose that I won't be able to convince you otherwise."

"No, you won't. But instead of trying to sway me, could you try and get me something to eat. Not too much, mind."

A wave of satisfaction washed over him as he sent an order to the house elves.

A/N: Just a reminder--this is AU. So AU, in fact that it practically goes full circle and becomes canon. Don't know if I mentioned that yet, but if I haven't and you didn't notice... Yup. It's AU. That's about it.


	13. 12 Ordinary Day

Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
A/N: Here's Chapter 12, complete with an impromptu train performance by Ginny and Draco, planning for Leipzig, more shopping, a salesman hitting on Severus in his sexy jeans, and lunch with Hermione's mother...

Perfection

Chapter 12: Ordinary Day

"Promise you'll write?" Ginny asked as they stared out the compartment window at the scenery flashing by.

"Of course I will!" Draco replied, sounding somewhat affronted. Then, with a stroke of genius, he added, "I'll do more than that. I'll visit."

For a moment, hope rose up inside of her, before practicality presented itself.

"You can't, my father would kill you, not to mention your parents…"

He brushed a blonde strand of hair out of his face and widened his eyes. "Who has to know?"

"No one, but—"

"Exactly. What could possibly go wrong?"

Draco winced at his question hanging in the air. What could go wrong? Quite a bit… His father could find out and put an end to the happy illusion that they could go on like this. Ginny could find out about… well… _that_ _thing_, whether by a slip of the tongue or a tip-off was no matter.

But, as he so often did, he pushed his doubts aside and told himself that there would be time, and, if he were lucky, he would never have to follow through at all.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, leaning forward in concern, but he was spared answering by two frightened looking third years who slipped into the compartment and scooted into the other seat, trying to avoid meeting his gaze.

Ginny's mouth turned into a poorly suppressed smile and he leaned over to whisper, "Let's give them a show, shall we?"

Letting a faint giggled escape from her mouth, she nodded, and he snaked his arm around her waist. Without hesitation, she nuzzled his neck and her mouth inched its way from his ear until it captured his lips. Exaggerating the use of tongue more than slightly, he pushed her up against the window and shot a sideways glance at the two boys, who had lowered their eyes and were flashing them up every so often out of curiosity.

Ginny let out a low moan and in an overly dramatic voice cried out, "Oh, Draco, you naughty boy!"

It took everything he had not to burst out laughing as he climbed on top of her and began to frantically remove her shirt, seeing how the two boys were not-so-subtly inching toward the door.

"Almost there, love," he growled, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Here, let me help you," she purred back, her fingers fingering his belt.

How was she managing to keep a straight face?

"By all means…"

"Oh, _Draco!_ It's positively enormous, why didn't you tell me?"

"Yes, isn't it?"

A strangled yelp from the doorway interrupted the game. Draco didn't dare look, but Ginny called out, still playing along, "Oh, hello Harry! I'd offer to let you come join us, but there's only room for two on the seat."

From the hall, they heard Ron's sulky tone saying, "Do I want to know?"

There wasn't a sound from Harry, only horrified staring, so Ginny cried out, "Oh, _darling_, do continue, we were having such fun!" making sure that her voice carried out to the hall.

Draco made a face that said, quite clearly, "Do you want to get me killed?" but her only reply was to bat her eyelashes innocently and continue her job of undoing the pants.

Abandoning whatever sense of caution he might have had, he began to run his hands over her form and lowered his mouth, tracing a line with his mouth from her stomach up to her mouth and the excessive use of tongue began again. Deftly, she began tugging his shirt over his head while he continued to caress and tore it off, throwing it with enough power that it would land near the door.

A disgusted humph came from the entrance and was closely followed by the click of the door shutting. Draco could contain himself no longer and rolled off of her, laughing and landing on the floor with a rather loud thud.

Peering over the edge of the seat, Ginny cried out, giggling, "Oh, Draco _darling_, ravish me, please do! You are positively exquisite! And so _large_! I had no idea!"

He rolled onto his side and howled harder as she tossed him back his shirt and buttoned hers up again, finger-combing her hair.

"Although, I must admit I didn't think it would work quite so well…" she added, tears running down her face.

"I think it was the whole 'enormous' bit, don't you?" he replied arrogantly.

"Yes, well that bit was real, although it isn't quite as big as Neville's in my third year at the Yule Ball…"

"_What?_" Draco shouted, head popping up from between the seats.

"Relax, I'm kidding."

"Thank Merlin," he breathed, laying back down.

"I'd almost think you were jealous," she accused lightly.

To her surprise, his reply was serious. "Maybe I am."

A strange, frighteningly powerful emotion welled up in her, making her breath catch in her lungs. He sat up again and looked her dead in the eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he said hesitantly, "Gin, there's something I need to tell you."

"I'm listening."

For a moment, he paused, thinking of the best way to reveal himself.

_Ginny, I'm sorry, I'm not the person you think I am…_

_Ginny, it was all before I really knew you, when I agreed to it. Actually, I never technically agreed. There was no choice involved…_

_I can't do it, Ginny. I just can't…_

In the end, it came out simply as, "I'm scared."

She closed her eyes and shuddered before replying, "Aren't we all?"

_Coward, _he thought, training his eyes on the window.

* * *

Hermione stretched out on her bed, relishing the idea of having all of Gryffindor Tower to herself for July. No one interrupting her as she studied, no noises going off in the common room at random moments, no Harry and Ron to criticize Severus… 

She hated the way they did that. They didn't know him, so how could they judge? And whenever she reminded them of that, Ron would look incredulous and Harry would mutter darkly something about knowing more than she did. Something that she highly doubted.

Her thoughts were broken off by the door being thrown open and Severus announcing, "Get up, there's work to be done. We only have three weeks to go."

She raised herself from the bed by degrees and teased, "I might have been changing, you know. You could have barged in and I would be stark naked…"

He rolled his eyes, but his smile wasn't entirely suppressed.

"Pervert," she hissed at him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Pervert," she repeated, more clearly.

The eyebrow had gone up nearly to his hairline now.

"I saw the look on your face, don't deny it. Pervert."

"Hermione Granger, that is quite enough."

She swung her feet off of the bed and stood up. "All right, I'm ready. What're we doing? There's nothing to be done with the potion for another three days."

"What kind of coffee did you drink this morning?" he asked, wincing at her chipper tone.

"Hotel-flavoured. And you never answered my question."

"We are planning the trip. In detail."

"Great, I get the big bed!"

A smile played across his face. "That was funny, I though I just heard you say…"

"That's because I did," she replied, smiling brightly. "I'll play you for it. Poker. Except maybe not, because I usually lose…"

"Would you care to enlighten me in regards to your good mood?"

She paused for a moment, pretending to be thoughtful. "You know, I'm not sure what caused it, but it doesn't matter… Oh, my mum sent me some brochures about Leipzig last week, so we can look at those and oh my goodness I'm so excited!" She paused breathlessly, before adding, "Pervert."

He looked at her for a moment with half-closed eyes, before ordering, "Get the brochures."

She practically bounded over to the trunk and began rummaging through it before coming out with a bundle of pamphlets that were held together with a hair elastic.

"Here they are," she said, handing them over. "There's one for a medieval pharmacy in there that I thought you might be interested in, and I'd like to go to the Bach museum if you don't mind terribly."

"Bach?" Severus repeated.

"Yeah, Johann Sebastian Bach. It says here that his body was reburied twice… Once because they thought it wasn't prestigious enough and once because the church it was in was bombed in World War Two."

"Ah…"

He remembered now. He had compared his memories to the corpse that had been removed from the ground. A rather grisly metaphor now that he contemplated it.

"Anyway, my mum loves Bach, I think she'd kill me if I didn't go to the museum…"

"It's all right. I've always liked classical music."

"Baroque," Hermione corrected absently, ruffling through the tourism information spread across her bed.

"Pardon?"

"It's from the Baroque period. The classical period wasn't until later, with Clementi and Mozart."

He furrowed his brow. Who the hell was Clementi?

"How do you know?"

She shrugged. "Mum loves music. And Muzio Clementi was around at the same time as Mozart. Some people even thought that he was better. Anyway, so the Bach museum is for sure?"

"Why not? And how did you know what I wanted to ask?"

"Your expression gives you away. And the pharmacy?" she continued briskly.

"Of course. I'm surprised that you would think otherwise."

"And we should go out for supper one night," Hermione continued, practically bouncing with excitement. "I want some nice authentic German food."

"Strudel?" he asked, naming the only German food that sprang to mind.

"And Spatzle and sauerkraut…" she added happily, before realization crossed her face. "Think I'll be able to keep it all down?"

It was said lightly, but the uncertainty was apparent in her eyes.

"I don't have any doubts," he assured her, "and nor should you."

A wavering smile spread across her lips, and in a gesture of affection, she reached across and hugged him.

"Thanks. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Although he would have denied it until the end of time, the feared Potions Master felt a flush tinge his cheeks and for a brief moment he was utterly flustered. After a moment she drew away, and continued talking briskly.

"You ought to buy some muggle clothes… and do something with your hair."

"There's nothing wrong with my hair," he snarled, and she grinned.

"I actually like it long, but you should tie it back at least, since I'm assuming that you'll be wearing a suit while we're being muggles."

"Too true," he muttered.

"Can I see what it looks like out of your face?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

With a sigh, he pulled it back with his hands and she smiled. "Much better."

Hermione felt a flutter of something in her chest as his hair slid into his eyes once more. Without anything to hide his face, he seemed much younger and far more vulnerable.

Trying to mask her emotion, she said, "Why don't we go to London to buy you some muggle clothes?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why does it _always _lead to shopping?"

She laughed. "What do you say to it? Next week?"

He had to smile at her enthusiasm. "I never expected this from you…" he teased, delaying.

"What do you expect, having to share a bloody room with Lavender and Parvati?"

"True, I suppose it would be inevitable…"

She grinned at him in triumph. "You're really just a big softy…"

"I resent that."

* * *

"Mum! Stop fussing!" 

Ginny rolled her eyes as Ron pushed Molly away in irritation and closed her eyes, willing the noise to go away. In addition to Ron's violently verbal protests, there was Charlie who had stopped in for breakfast, a group of aurors loudly debating new curses, and the sounds of things catching fire and boiling over, not to mention the revolting smell of kippers. And it was only eight in the morning.

She could still be in bed. She didn't need to be here, in the midst of this sanctioned insanity, listening to screaming people and smelling burning food. The fact that Harry was staring at her in slightly creepy way wasn't really helping either.

And owl swooped in that she recognized as Draco's and it dropped a letter into her lap before wheeling around and leaving through the nearest open window. Snatching up the letter, she sprinted out of the room and up the stairs, feeling the anticipation building as she did. _This _was what she had been waiting for.

Flinging herself onto her bed, she ripped it open and felt her toes curl in excitement.

Now the plans could start.

* * *

"Oh, come on, try it on," Hermione cajoled, holding up the white shirt in front of him. 

"Absolutely not," he snapped by way of reply.

"You have two black suits… Just try it."

He gave her an irritated look.

"With the jeans? Please?" She added her most dazzling smile for effect.

"I agree," the salesman agreed wholeheartedly, nodding. "That combination will look most becoming on you… And may I suggest—"

"No," Severus cut in quickly, and Hermione tried not to giggle, without much success.

As she sat outside the change room, drumming her fingers impatiently on the vinyl chair, she tried to avoid meeting the salesman's eyes.

"Is your boyfriend looking for anything in particular?" he asked her, and she stared at him in shock for a moment.

She was about to open her mouth to correct him, when the door swung open and a sullen looking Severus stepped out, dark eyes smoldering.

"He's not… Oh," she said, half-gasping and standing up automatically to fix his collar and undo the top button.

He caught her hand in his before she could and shook his head slightly, arching an eyebrow.

"It'll look better," she protested.

Rolling his eyes, he released her and with slightly trembling hands she made the adjustments. Stepping back to admire him, Hermione realized that she had stopped breathing and inhaled.

"Mirror," she said, pointing while being shocked that she could manage an entire two-syllables.

With something like amusement in his eyes, he stepped in front and scrutinized himself.

"Yes," she ordered.

"I said 'try on,' not purchase," he pointed out, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a grin.

"So?" She had now regressed to single-syllable words as her knees gradually melted. Soon she would be sprawled on the floor.

"If you would like _my _opinion—" the salesman tried, approaching him, then backing off at the two less-than-friendly expressions that were directed his way.

"Just get it," she moaned at him. "You'll be, what, fifty pounds poorer?" Sentence structure was returning. This was good.

He arched an eyebrow.

"I'm not leaving this store until you do," she informed him obstinately.

He sighed, and she knew that she had won.

"Leave it on," she added. "I'm sure that this nice man won't mind… Will you?"

She turned to the man and smiled sweetly, ignoring the fact that he was now glaring at them. With an expression reminiscent of a kicked dog, he led them to the till and before Severus could give him the money, Hermione threw down a note.

"My treat," she told him, smiling mischievously. "Anyway, now you owe me."

He looked at her disdainfully through half-closed eyes and drawled, "I assure you, _Miss Granger, that_ I owe you nothing…"

She peered up at him through her lashes and tried not to grin. "Really, now, _Professor _Snape. I would think that you had enough sense not to take me seriously."

She linked her arm through his, and they strolled out the doors of the shop, onto the busy London street.

* * *

_Gin, _

_Hope everything's going all right and Ron and Harry haven't killed you over the train—or told your mum and dad. I've told my mum that I have to keep training for Quidditch over the summer, so I'll be able to get away on that excuse (hopefully). How does next weekend sound?_

_Draco_

Ginny reread the note with a grin. It was perfect. Next Saturday she had been planning a trip to the Burrow to grab some more clothes and her parents trusted enough to let her go alone.

Meeting Draco wouldn't be breaking that trust, she was certain. They were all wrong about him, and it wasn't as if they were actually going to _do _anything. In six months, their only intimate physical contact had been acting silly and trying to ward other people off. She had begun to realize that she meant a little bit more to him that he was ready to admit, and truth be told, she toyed with the very same notion herself. But she trusted him and she trusted herself. She wasn't stupid.

Hastily scrawling a reply, she shoved his note under her pillow before going to search out an owl to use. She met Harry on the stairs, but he just brushed by her coldly, making it clear that he would allow no conversation. Shrugging it off, she continued on her quest. As she reached the bottom step, she felt eyes on her, and turned just in time to see Harry turn the corner, watching, a frightening intensity burning in them.

For a brief instant, their eyes met, and it sent a jolt of ice through her heart. Shuddering slightly, she turned her back and kept walking.

* * *

As he absently browsed through a muggle bookstore, running his hands over thick and thin volumes over something called 'Science Fiction,' it struck Severus that, oddly enough, he was enjoying himself. Glancing across the store at Hermione, he smiled to himself. She was pouring over a book, curls tumbling over her shoulders and into her eyes. Impatiently, she pushed it back and looked up, meeting his gaze and grinning, before going back to her previous activity.

Today she seemed… sparkly, almost. There was none of her usual hint of melancholy glimmering on the edges, threatening to creep over. Her laugh was real and rung out in pealing bells, her smile wasn't reluctant, the dark shadows that haunted her eyes had almost completely vanished.

He wasn't entirely sure when she had begun to appear striking. Perhaps it had been the day during Christmas Holidays when she had ran into him in the restaurant and he had begun to realize precisely how much spirit she possessed, perhaps it had come over him gradually… It was there, though. No use denying the fact.

Granted, she wasn't flawlessly gorgeous. She was still thinner than she should be, almost to the point of being breakable, and her hair was practically untamable. But her eyes had darkened to almost a chocolate colour, and when she laughed they sparkled invitingly. Beautiful.

He almost flushed at the thought and mentally scorned himself for the use of such words. She was a student, off-limits. And intelligent… attractively so.

She waved at him, and he realized that he had been staring.

Feigning indifference, he approached her and nonchalantly asked, "So, what time did you say that we were meeting your mother for lunch?"

She glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. "We have five minutes. Good thing it's only three blocks away."

"How long will it take us?" he asked.

"Five minutes," she told him. "If we run."

They hurried from the store, dodging to narrowly avoid the magazine rack, then stood outside in confusion for a few moments.

"Which way?"

She grabbed him by the wrist and began dragging him until they were sprinting all-out weaving through the pedestrians and dodging across the street between gaps.

After a few minutes, Hermione paused and said breathlessly, "I think we passed it."

The turned and retraced their steps, trying to find the sidewalk café. It was only when they entered it and the waiter pointedly stared and asked if they wanted a table for two that he realized their hands were joined.

Still half-laughing, he released his grip and she hurried over to a table with a woman who was staring blankly out the window, sipping on a cup of coffee.

"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed, and she leapt to her feet.

"Hermione!" she exclaimed, embracing her. "How are you? Goodness, you're so thin…"

He noticed Hermione shift uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

Agrippa let go of her daughter, suddenly formal, saying, "Professor Snape, I presume. Hermione has always spoken so highly of you."

He frowned for a moment, wondering why on earth she had done that, then shook the offered hand, replying, "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Granger. And do call me Severus."

_Do call me Severus? _he thought in part disdain, part amusement. Merlin, he was acting like a nervous suitor.

"Please sit down," she said, sweeping out a hand to one of the free chairs, next to Hermione.

He glanced at her briefly, and she smiled reassuringly.

"What do you teach again, Severus?" Agrippa asked. "Herbology, isn't it?"

He barely managed to mask a look of horror, choking on a sip of water.

Thankfully, Hermione smoothed it over by correcting, almost harshly, "_Potions_, Mum. Se—Professor Snape teaches _Potions_. Which is why he is helping me on a _Potions _project."

Agrippa smiled sheepishly and said, "Of course, how silly of me…"

* * *

Sitting across from her mother, Hermione was shocked at the change. Agrippa had always prided herself on the fact that her hair didn't possess a single strand of gray, but in the last few months it had gone from a sleek chestnut to salt and pepper, and her face looked haggard under the make-up. 

It wasn't only that, though. She had always had a flawless memory—she could recall every detail of a university disagreement perfectly, but now she was vague and empty. As if she wasn't really there.

_Relax_, Hermione told herself. _It hasn't been the easiest time for her. Give her a while, and she'll be fine._

Or so she hoped.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set as they strolled through the park, and Hermione sank down onto one of the benches, Severus beside her. She settled her head on his shoulder tiredly, watching the sun stain the clouds vibrant colours and smiling. 

"So, what did you think?" she asked, tilting her head so that she could see him.

"It wasn't as horrible as I thought," he teased her, and she hit him lightly.

Straightening, she met his gaze dead on. "I thought it was brilliant. Especially the salesman that was hitting on you…"

"He was _not _'hitting on me'," he snapped.

She laughed. "I told you the shirt would look nice…"

He mock-glared, and she smiled impishly.

"You almost look attractive…"

A bit of an understatement,actually. Seductive, tempting… sexy, even, were much closer to the truth. On a spur of the moment urge, she leaned forward, teasing his lips with hers lightly, before drawing away. A moment later, his mouth was on hers again, strong, yet wonderfully gentle.

A multitude of sensations rushed through her during those brief moments, indescribable and perfect. When he finally pulled away, his breathing was almost as ragged and desperate as hers.

"We should be heading back," he said hoarsely.

"We should," she agreed.

Standing and making sure that no one was near enough to see, they apparated, leaving behind nothing but the golden rays of the sun and the echo of laughter to tell of the wonderful, perfect, ordinary day.


	14. 13 Passion

Disclaimer: Taking no credit here. Don't own Fredrich Nietzsche or any of his works, for which I am quite grateful. I generally find him a creepy and disturbed individual. Good quote though.

"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."

--Fredrich Nietzsche

Perfection

Chapter 13: Passion

"Mum, stop fussing, I know my way around the house! I've only lived there my entire life!"

"Now, be careful with the floo powder, dear, and don't break anything…"

"Mum!" Ginny groaned, rolling her eyes. "It's fine! I can look after myself!"

"And bring me back some hyacinths from the garden, this house could do with some colour…"

_No kidding_, Ginny though, glancing around the dim sitting room while replying, "Yes, Mum, I think that I can manage that…"

"Are you sure that you don't want Ron or Harry to—"

"No!" She practically shrieked the word. It would ruin everything.

"BLOOD TRAITORS!" the portrait chose that moment to shriek.

"Shut up!" they both bellowed back over their shoulders, almost carelessly.

"Mum, can I _please_ just go?" Ginny begged, inching towards the fireplace.

"Yes, just a minute… Say good-bye to your father…"

"He's at work… You know, the place where he goes everyday to make money…" she reminded Molly.

"But it's a Sat… yes, of course he is. Never mind that, then, and have a lovely day."

Her mother finally held out the Floo Powder, and Ginny took a fistful, then tossed it into the flames, stepping in.

* * *

Agrippa sat in the café where she had met her daughter for lunch just a few days before, quietly sipping a cup of coffee and eating her customary lunch. There had been a change in Hermione since the last time she had seen her. Thinking back, Agrippa couldn't remember the last time that her daughter had _really _smiled.

The other day not only had she laughed, but seemed to sparkle, as if another person was shining through. Surprisingly, this thought worried her. She knew nothing about Hermione. Her dreams, her fears, her accomplishments, her downfalls. Agrippa shared in none of it.

The sound of a familiar voice ringing out across the room made her freeze before she could dwell on this any longer. For a moment, she couldn't place it. It had been over five months. But when she twisted in her seat to look, there could be no mistake.

Steve.

She only took a brief glance, long enough to ascertain that the younger brunette who had also entered was indeed _with_ him. Trying to ignore his presence, she turned back to her meal, but it was impossible. When they sat at a table just within her field of view, it was all she could do not to stare. She forced herself to finish the soup, then stood to pay, making sure that she passed close to _that _table as she went. She wasn't sure why, but for some reason or the other she wanted him to recognize her.

As she strode by, he flicked a disinterested glance up at her, shortly followed by another, more startled one. She kept her expression cool and empty, even though inside she was trembling, feeling a flash of triumph at the shade of red his face turned. It was more than she had hoped for.

When she slumped into the driver's seat of her car, not wanting to put the key in the ignition and have to concentrate on driving, she felt something like relief wash over her. There had been no pain at the sight of him, no flash of longing for what had been. Only a brief flash of horror. She was free.

Straightening, she smiled to herself. A little gift to herself was in order. She was, after all, no longer painfully needy. That deserved something, didn't it? Perhaps a new wardrobe…

In a surge of energy, she started up the car and sped off down the road well over the speed limit. Once work was over, she would treat herself. Maybe even skip out early.

* * *

"How can you _not _be packed?"

Severus stood over the almost-empty suitcase, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"I don't know what to bring," Hermione moaned, tossing in a pair of jeans. "Is it formal?"

He heaved a sigh. "You couldn't have thought of this sooner?"

"I'm sorry… But it just occurred to me…"

"Bring regular robes and a dress robe. Do you have a dress robe?"

"None that fit… I have a dress at home that might work, I wore it over Christmas. Do you think that Mum would have time to send it to me?"

He massaged his temples and sank down onto a bed. "She could send it to you _in _Leipzig, but do you really want to be wearing muggle clothing at a _wizard's _convention?"

She chewed on a thumbnail, thinking hard. "If it's a dress, it shouldn't matter too much, and I'm sure it can be altered. It's black with a halter top…" She trailed off to stare at him for a moment. "In fact, I think you've seen it…"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

"No, honestly… That night at the hotel…"

"You weren't wearing a dress," he reminded her, beginning to worry that she had run mad.

"Not that time, the other time, when I was with my family… You ran into me…"

Now he remembered. That evening felt like eternities ago.

"You were wearing the heels," he added, squinting. "And I believe that it was you who ran into me."

She arched her eyebrows. "Really, now. Well, at any rate, do you remember the dress?"

Only too well… In fact, he was more than grateful that she wasn't able to see what his reaction to the memory was from her vantage point.

"Yes," he replied, wincing inwardly. _Think of _nice _things, _he told himself. _Like puppies and flowers and…_

"Well, do you think that it will work?"

To his relief, the erection was beginning to subside, although he had a feeling that there would be a series of cold showers later in the day.

"I'm sure it will be fine, and if not you can work something out."

She smiled in relief, before observing, "It's almost time for lunch. Shall we go down?"

He helped her up from her kneeling position on the floor, and she grinned in thanks. He acutely felt each place she had brushed his body and tried—unsuccessfully—to ignore it. When she didn't let go of his hand immediately, he felt himself stiffen a second time and glanced down at her in time to see an intense expression on her face that filled him with heat and made him inhale sharply.

"Severus?" she asked, her look becoming puzzled. "Is something wrong?"

She dropped his hand, and he made a half-hearted attempt at smiling.

"Of course not," he assured her. "Lunch?"

He sounded like an imbecile, even to his own ears.

She nodded slowly in reply, still looking somewhat questioning.

"Let's go," she prompted.

* * *

Ginny shot through the fireplace, landing painfully on her back at the feet of the one and only Draco Malfoy.

"Languish there, darling," he told her, grinning mischievously. "I can think of many things to do in that position."

"Nice to see you too, Draco," she snapped, hoisting herself up stiffly.

"Aren't we cheerful today?" he teased, and she had to laugh at his injured expression.

"So what are your plans?" she asked, making motions that they should move into the kitchen.

"Plans?" he repeated innocently.

"You must have some sort of plan," she told him, smiling over his shoulder.

"I just told you, but you didn't seem to like it," he joked, reclining in a wooden chair at the table.

"Very funny, Malfoy."

"I thought so."

She sat down opposite him and they sat in silence for a few minutes, lost in thought. Finally, Ginny suggested, "What about a walk?"

"Pardon?" he asked, jerking up. "Oh… A walk. Yeah, sounds good."

She led the way out the front door and down through the apple orchard. When they had walked a few minutes, he grabbed her by the waist, making her shriek, then took off down the path leaving her laughing in his wake.

When she recovered her breath, she chased after him, pumping her arms faster as she grew closer. He was aware of her only at the last moment, giving him enough time to duck out of her way when she tried to fling herself on his back and she landed hard on the grass. He jumped, landing dog-pile style on top, knocking the wind out of her.

"Draco!" she tried to yell, but it came out as a wheeze. "Get off!"

He rolled off, and lay beside her laughing.

"Bastard," she muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, his mouth turning up. "You'd do better to remember which one of us is ticklish the next time you decide to insult me."

"Stop it!" she shrieked as he attacked her stomach and neck mercilessly. "Don't!" Her protests were soon drowned out by laughter as he showed no signs of relenting.

When she could no longer breathe, he stopped and she pushed him off of her, desperately trying to recover.

"I still think you're a bastard," she informed him once she had regained her ability to speak.

"I'd be worried if you didn't," he replied, flicking a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, and she grinned at him.

"You shouldn't have such a low opinion of yourself…"

He laughed softly and propped himself up to look at her properly, murmuring in her ear, "It's only because of you that I have it. Before you came along, I had _too _high an opinion of myself…"

"I'm glad that I did _something_," she replied, grinning up at him innocently.

In a grandmotherly voice, he asked, "Are you a virgin, Ginny dear? Because the way you're looking at me right now, I could rob you of that very quickly…"

"Very much so," she slurred, feeling almost drunk. "And you? Because I'm feeling the same thing just now…"

"Think about the question," he teased, lowering his mouth to hers. "Who would I have fucked? Pansy Parkinson?"

"Perhaps," she replied, more than a little breathless.

He drew away, shuddering. "Merlin, she's possibly the ugliest girl to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts… Now look what you've done, bringing her up… You've gone and spoiled the moment—we'll have to go through it all over again now."

"Nothing wrong with that," Ginny whispered in reply as his hands began roaming.

"I thought you might enjoy it…"

She twined her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers, exploring it hungrily with her tongue as he began pulling her shirt off, pausing to admire.

"Nice bra," he commented, eyes glinting with humour. "Although I must say it looks much better off…"

"How come _you_ get to see _me_ shirtless?" she complained, half-laughing.

"We can remedy that…"

"Thank you," she said, and Draco began his striptease.

* * *

Hermione put the stopper in the last vial of The Golden Shield, before turning to Severus.

"Yes?" he asked, raising the trademark eyebrow.

"I haven't said anything yet," she replied with a tone that implied she was laughing at him.

"You only get that look when you want something, so what is it?"

"A bit testy tonight, aren't you?" she commented. "But yes, I did want something."

He shot her an _I told you so _look.

"A walk."

"It's getting a bit late, isn't it?" he reminded her skeptically. "Don't forget that we leave tomorrow before dawn."

"I know, but it's so nice out and it's a full moon—"

She ended the sentence as soon as the meaning sank in, looking at him with alarm.

He shook his head. "Don't worry, I managed to talk my way out of it. Everything's all right."

"But…"

She remembered the last time he had returned from a meeting, worse off than usual. She knew that nothing was all right and she knew better than to argue.

_Better than believing a lie_, a part of her said, but she ignored it. She was not the silly little girl he had once accused her of being. She knew that the war was about sacrifices, whether she liked them or not.

"A walk?" she reminded him, wanting to think of anything but Voldemort, anything but the frighteningly possible.

He nodded, betraying no emotion, and with a space that felt like oceans between them, they headed out the door in unison. They remained carefully apart most of the way through the halls, barely speaking although Hermione felt as if there was something that needed to be said, something in the back of her mind, but no words came.

The air outside was warm, the breeze nothing more than a whisper on her bare arms, hardly enough to send his robes billowing, and the sun had set, leaving a dark tapestry of stars stretched above them. Unconsciously, she picked out the constellations, craning her neck.

"When I was little, I used to pretend that the stars were castles and the people who lived in them would come down and take me away to live there," Hermione murmured dreamily.

He looked at her sharply, and she could see the question in his eyes.

"It wasn't always so bad," she assured him. "What girl doesn't dream of being spirited away to a fairyland of some sort? That was back before I knewwhat hell meant."

"From my bedroom window every night, I would watch the sun setting and wait for the first star," he whispered, as if only just remembering. "Downstairs, I knew what was happening, but the only thing I could feel was relief that it wasn't me."

The bitterness in his voice was strong enough that she could feel it in her bones.

"It wasn't your fault," she told him with conviction. "You were afraid. You had every right to be."

He had paced a few steps away from her while speaking. She now reached forward and brushed him on the arm. He began to stiffen, then relaxed as she drew alongside of him and leaned against him, clasping his hand.

"It's a beautiful night," she whispered, allowing his arms to slide around her.

"That it is," he agreed.

She tilted her head back so she could meet his gaze and her mouth curved into a half-smile.

"You aren't always a bastard," she told him affectionately. "Just mostly."

"Well, that's an improvement," he replied wryly.

"One step at a time…"

He laughed softly, and she could feel it rumbling up from deep in his throat. The moonlight illuminated his face, emphasizing the shadows and making his eyes glint out in the darkness. Hogwarts stood behind them, a silent statue with no light shining from a single window.

"Are you excited?" she asked him.

"Excited?" he repeated.

"Yeah… you know, that feeling when butterflies are fluttering around in your stomach and you can't stop bouncing because you can't wait for something to happen," she teased, laughing at his expression.

"Quite possibly," he replied with a hint of a smile in the twist of his mouth.

"Wow… I was wondering if you were capable."

She grinned impishly up at him and pressed her head into his chest.

He twined a strand of her hair around his finger absently, then unwrapped it, using the same hand to tilt her face up to his and lowered his head. She raised herself up on her toes the rest of the way, letting her lips brush his gently.

"We should head in soon," she told him, lowering herself so that she was standing flat-footed again. "It's an early morning tomorrow."

* * *

All concept of reality was gone. He _was _reality. White-blond, sweat-soaked hair, pale chest and shoulders, sea blue eyes above her. On top, beneath, inside, encircling. He was everywhere, he was the entire world. Whatever fear, whatever reservations she might have had had vanished with the ground that had once lay beneath her and been replaced with pure ecstasy, a blinding rush that made her feel as though she were soaring.

Some part of her mind that had remained sane reminded her that they were lying in an apple orchard for anyone to find. Then that brief moment of clarity disappeared, sponged up into oblivion with everything else.

She arched her back, throwing back her head, craving more and the pulses came harder, faster than before as he reached the peak, then slid out of her, rolled off of her, and Ginny was back on the ground again, Draco lying beside her.

"I told you that you'd get to see me shirtless," he commented, eyes glazed over as though slightly bewildered as he flopped onto his back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Don't start with the apologizing," she warned, positioning herself so that she was resting her head on his chest. "Don't take _all _the credit for the idea."

"I won't, if only because you won't let me."

She mock-glared at him before saying, "We should put something on. Imagine if someone were to walk by… People _know _me here."

He laughed. "You're right, as always. You'll need to get off of me first, though."

* * *

Ginny was sitting on her bed, staring thoughtfully out the window. She wondered if anyone in her family had noticed that she was different from that morning. She wasn't upset or filled with regret, just… changed. And yet at the same time, she hadn't. It was all rather confusing.

She wondered if what was between her and Draco had changed. It didn't seem to have. He wasn't treating her as if she were made of glass, and they had still managed to laugh over the same things, talk without feeling as though there was a wall between them. If anything, she felt much closer to him _now._

She reached underneath her pillow for the last letter he had sent her, half amused, half cringing at the way she was behaving. It was ridiculous, yet she couldn't help it.

Her fingers brushed the bedspread, missing the letter, so she tried again, still finding nothing. Bewildered, she tore the pillow off to find it, but it wasn't there. A thought occurred to her that made her blood run cold.

_What if Mum found it when she did the laundry?_

A voice behind her made her spin around in shock.

"Missing something?"

Harry was standing in the doorway, holding a folded piece of paper in his hands, and by the looks of things, he'd been there for a while.

"Give me the letter, Harry," Ginny ordered coldly.

"What if I don't want to?"

He began to advance towards her, and she tried to ignore the knot of fear growing in her stomach.

"Get the hell away from me!" she hissed at him desperately. "Do you want the entire house to hear? Just give me the letter and go."

"I don't think I will…"

The slow, languidly dangerous tone in his voice made her shudder. Her eyes darted frantically, trying to find a way to escape, but he had backed her into a corner.

"Now," he said easily. "Let's talk. What _were _you doing today?"

"That's none of you fucking business!" she snapped at him.

"Because you know that I won't let Malfoy get the best of me…"

Moving in closer, he grabbed hold of her shoulders, yanking her in violently for a kiss that more a violation of her mouth than anything else. For a moment, his face was replaced with that of Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle standing over her, telling her that she _would _die. She blinked, and it was Harry again, only now she wasn't afraid. What could be worse than Voldemort? She brought her knee up between his legs hard, then before he could recover, pushed him over, grabbing the letter as he fell.

"Get out," she repeated, ripping the lamp off of the nightstand and waving it at him.

This time he obeyed, not fancying having bits of glass lodged into his head.

"Ginny?" her mother asked, voice floating up the stairs. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing!" she called back, trying to keep the shaking from her voice as she sank down onto the bed.

She knew that she couldn't tell. Harry wouldn't hesitate to spill on her then. The only reason that he wasn't downstairs talking to Molly that very second was because Ginny had something on him. Not to mention that if she let anyone know, she had no idea what Harry would do. Massaging her temples, she got ready for bed and crawled beneath the covers, but not before she shut her door firmly, checking and double-checking to make sure that it was locked.

* * *

Hermione rolled over, rubbing open her eyes.

"Next time, try something more effective than poking me a few times," she mumbled, crawling out of bed. "I'll meet you in the entranceway."

He nodded once, then swept out of the room, leaving Hermione pulling on the one set of clothes that had not been packed. She took a few moments to tame her hair and apply the barest hint of make-up, before dropping the eyeliner and lip gloss into her purse and hurrying down to the front doors, where Severus was leaning, looking impatient.

"Where is the luggage?" she asked, looking around.

"They're in the carriage. We're taking it to Hogsmeade and then using a portkey to get to Leipzig."

"You've mentioned that before," she told him, leading the way out. "Let's go."

"Someone's a little excited," he commented, following her.

"You're very brilliant sometimes."

"Of course I am," he smirked, climbing into the carriage, Hermione close behind. "Make sure the door is shut."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How stupid do you think I _am_?"

He raised an eyebrow, and she barely contained a giggle.

"Please don't answer that," she added.

"Just as well."

She smirked at him as the carriage jerked into action, and found herself flying forward in his direction from the sudden movement. Staring up at him from the uncomfortable position that was half on the floor, she realized that he was laughing at her. No, not laughing—howling.

"Don't laugh too hard—you might fall out," she muttered at him, attempting to look dignified.

Still sniggering, he lifted her up and helped her back into position.

"It wasn't that funny," she told him, looking bewildered.

"No," he agreed. "It wasn't."

"You'll never let me forget this, will you?"

"It doesn't look like I will any time in the near future."

"Leave the predictions to Trelawny," she advised him, "and stick with your creepy dungeons. Forecasts don't suit you."


	15. 14 Leipzig Life

Disclaimer: Not mine, not yours, and I don't think it's the creepy guy next door's either...  
A/N: The accuracy of this chapter has nothing to do with my faulty memory and/or incompetence and everything to do with Sleepyowlet, so if you see her, give her a hug. Any and all mistakes are mine. For the record, all places mentioned specifically in this chapter are real (with the exception of their flat), as are the things described in them.

Perfection

Chapter 14: Leipzig Life

"I told you that we should have turned back there!" Hermione cried out, frustrated.

"But the map says…"

"Maybe you're reading the map wrong! It's probably upside down or something…"

"The map is not upside down!" he hissed. "We keep going straight!"

Hermione moaned and leaned against a lamppost. "Let me see the map," she ordered, snatching it away from him and squinting for a moment, before grinning to herself.

"What?" he snarled, stealing it back.

"It's a map of Frankfurt. You—_you—_got us a map of Frankfurt. I don't believe it," she sniggered.

"I told you it wasn't upside down," came the snarky reply.

"That doesn't matter, because the map still doesn't help us, my darling professor."

She patted him on the shoulder, and made a face at a tourist, nattily attired in a floral Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts over pasty legs who was staring at them, while Severus shot him a death glare.

"Let's just get a taxi," she suggested to him. "That way we won't have to buy another map. I'm never going to drop this, by the way."

"We have to find one first," he pointed out dryly.

"Oh, stop sulking. How hard can it be? Excuse me!" she called out to a young woman walking by, who paused, her head jerking, before frantically realizing that her German was almost non-existent. "Uh… Guten tag… um… Shit!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Severus's scowl twitch into a smile, and she elbowed him in the ribs.

"I speak English," she assured them, adjusting her glasses and brushing a reddish piece of hair out of her face.

"Merlin's beard," Severus sighed, and Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "I mean, er… Blimey, that's a relief."

Hermione covered her mouth with a hand to prevent herself from grinning outright. "Do you know where this street is?" she asked, pointing to a piece of paper that she held out in front of her and trying to speak slowly without being obvious. "I won't try to say the name, I'll only butcher it," she added, by way of explanation.

"It isn't far," she told them. "Go straight down this road for another three blocks, then turn left and there you are."

"Thanks!" Hermione said, smiling politely, and turning to Severus as the other woman kept on down the street. Once she was out of earshot, Hermione hissed, "Blimey? That was the best you could come up with?"

"I was working under pressure," he teased her, flashing a grin. "As for your language skills, I could have done better."

"Ignoring the fact that you would have scared whoever you tried to talk to away by glaring at them," she replied, hoisting up her suitcase. "Come on, I'd like to get to the flat by next week."

"That would be nice, yes," he agreed. After a few steps, he added, "Do you notice how we seem to be walking in the opposite direction of everyone else?"

"Now that you mention it…"

He switched the hands that his suitcase was in, and Hermione paused for a moment, setting hers down, then pulled out a handle.

"What's that?" he asked, staring curiously.

"I almost forgot… My suitcase has wheels."

He rolled his eyes, and they continued on to cross the street.

"Am I sensing jealousy?" she teased.

"Why?" he asked disdainfully. "They're wheels. The Ancient Egyptians thought them up; they aren't anything particularly extraordinary."

"Are you sure it was the Egyptians?"

She laughed up at him, and they kept walking for another few minutes in silence.

"I think this is where we turn," he commented as they approached another corner.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, I made a number of deductions, but the signpost was a dead giveaway."

She blinked stupidly for a moment, before grinning. "Ah, I see. Now, what are we looking for? Number seventeen…"

They continued down the street for barely more than ten metres before finding it—a four-story house that was white with red trim and had a gate that opened into a small courtyard.

"Beautiful," Hermione sighed, taking in the bright arrangements of flowers in the window boxes and the vines climbing up one side of the house.

"It's nice," Severus agreed briskly, about to proceed to the door, but she held out a hand to stop him. "What now?"

"I want you to appreciate this," she ordered him in a no-nonsense tone, although the twinkle in her eyes gave her away.

He arched an eyebrow and looked down his nose, tactfully remaining silent.

"Smell the flowers, inhale the refreshing scent of roses on a summer's day, allow your soul to be soothed by the colors…"

Her voice went misty in an uncanny impersonation of Trelawney and she led him to a rosebush, shoving her nose into it and breathing deep. He barely disguised a snort with a cough and she mock-glared up at him.

"You aren't taking the healing properties of this botanical wonder seriously," she lectured. "I want you to stop laughing at me and try it!"

Dutifully, he lowered his nose to the rose and just as he was about to inhale, a wasp flew out of the centre, buzzing angrily. Surprised, he leapt back, half tripping over his own feet and yelping as he tumbled to the ground, taking Hermione with him.

"That certainly was graceful," she informed him, picking herself off and checking to make sure that there were no grass stains on her jeans. Now what do you say that we go inside?"

"That's what I was _trying _to do," he snarled at her, making her laugh.

"Oh, you know every bit as much as I do that the entire experience was a balm to your jaded soul…"

"Gain a few more years before you lecture me about being jaded, wise one," he advised, heaving up his suitcase.

Before Hermione could come up with a suitable reply, the door flung open, revealing a short, plump woman with salt and pepper hair, who appeared to be overwhelmed by the idea of having guests and seemed to be on the verge of rushing out and giving each of them a welcoming embrace.

"Hello," Severus greeted her stiffly, obviously hoping to ward off any shows of affection.

She returned the exchange, then continued in slow and heavily accented but passable English.

"You are the Professor Snape and Miss Granger, yes?" she asked them, stepping aside to let them in.

Hermione smiled and nodded, accepting the invitation into the cool house willingly, Severus following close behind. She had never been one to enjoy the extreme heat waves of July.

"You will stay on the third floor, I have made everything ready for you. Here are your keys; I am on the second floor if you do need help with anything. And there was a package arrived yesterday for Miss Granger, I will get it for you if you will come upstairs."

Severus looked at her questioningly and she mouthed at him, "The dress." He nodded, and they proceeded to follow the round figure that was heaving up the steps.

* * *

When Ginny finally crawled out of bed, it was nearly noon and she did it reluctantly, wanting to delay seeing Harry for as long as possible. Automatically, she felt under the mattress, as she had so often during the night, for Draco's letters and to her relief, they were still there. She would need to find a better hiding place for them and soon, but the problem with that plan, she realized as she gazed glumly around the empty room, was that there simply was nowhere to do so, particularly not in here. 

Hearing the thudding of footsteps coming up the stairs, she panicked and shoved them under the rug, praying that her mother didn't decide to air it out anytime soon and that Harry was stupider than he looked.

* * *

Draco lay on his stomach on the lawn to the rear of Malfoy Manor, knowing with a strong sense of relief that this was the one place he would not be interrupted by his father, mainly because of the fact that Lucius Malfoy was wanted by authorities and never left the inside of the house during daylight hours. Draco, on the other hand, was still a more or less law-abiding citizen and therefore had no fears regarding the ministry or their laws—at least not yet. 

He knew that he had a choice to make. He had known that since he had held _her _in his arms in the school library, comforted her as she battled something that he had no knowledge of, although he had not admitted it to himself. It was to be a choice between her and everything that, up until now, he had believed to be the truth, a choice between dark and light, a choice between being foolish and being like… like…

He paused for a moment, hardly daring to allow the thought to fully formulate inside his mind. Unbidden, it did so anyway.

And being like his father.

Lucius Malfoy was a man to be feared, respected, not underestimated. There was nothing yielding or soft in his nature. He was as hard and cold as a flawless diamond, but his soul held none of the beauty of the stone. It was all Draco could do not to shake his head.

Lucius Malfoy was certainly a piece of work.

The boy knew that there was no way he could ever earn his father's praise, no way that he would be anything other than a foolish, stupid boy who was unsure of what he wanted in life. No way save one.

One thing that, above all, he would not—could not—do.

Or could he?

Unbidden, her face etched itself in his mind, smiling, happy, looking at him with adoration, affection, _love_, even. But above all, she was looking at him with trust, and that was what he couldn't shatter.

It came down to a choice between love and a brief moment of praise, and though he was no romantic, Draco knew which of the two he valued, which of the two would last more than a fleeting second.

_Sorry, Father_, he thought feeling a quick pang of regret that was promptly pushed aside. He had made his choice.

_Actually, no, I'm not sorry. You don't know it yet, but I've failed you yet again. The only thing is that this time, I don't give a damn.

* * *

_

Severus watched Hermione examine their lodgings from his seat on the sofa, smiling as she exclaimed over various things like the view from the balcony (didn't he want to come and see it?), the kitchenette (we ought to find a market, or at the very least, a restaurant), and even the lampshades (they were so adorable, was he sure that he didn't want to at least have a look?). Finally, she sank down next to him, and leaned against him, somewhat weakly.

"I hate portkeys," she confided, eyes flicking up at him. "They always leave me feeling light-headed."

He nodded, agreeing. "I can't stand them either, but as you can't apparate…"

He didn't add that he wanted to save his energy in the event that he did have to get them out of something. True, it was unlikely, but a lesson he had learned early on in life was that the unlikely was sometimes the most likely thing to occur.

"Nothing I can't handle," she assured him, curling up against him more tightly and resting her head in the hollow his chest provided.

He adjusted his arm so that it was resting comfortably on top of her before closing his eyes, intending only to rest them for a moment. He was subconsciously aware as he did so that Hermione's breathing had slowed as she gradually drifted into sleep. When he opened them again, more than slightly disoriented, it was late in the afternoon and Hermione was gazing blearily up at him.

Yawning, he asked her, "How do you feel about eating out? I doubt that either of us is up to cooking."

"Sounds great," she agreed, straightening and running a hand through her wild hair. "But I get first dibs on the shower."

"Fine," he grumbled. "Don't use up all of the hot water."

"I'll try," she teased, moving gradually towards her suitcase and unzipping it.

* * *

The restaurant they chose was a small café on an out-of-the way street, although judging by the sounds coming from the tavern next-door, it was a well-known enough spot. Neither of them was particularly famished, an after-effect of the portkey, so they split a plate of spatzle with a veal cutlet, picking bits off of the giant platter covered in food that sat in the middle of the table and eating it off of the smaller plates intended for appetizers. 

"So, what are the plans for tomorrow?" Hermione asked between mouthfuls of the noodles.

"Find the place the conference is located at and make any arrangements needed," came the reply after he had finished swallowing a gulp of water.

"Is there anything that we need to arrange?"

"Other than finding out when you will be speaking, no, but it would be a good idea to become better acquainted with the area."

She nodded and sawed off a dainty piece of veal, chewing it thoughtfully.

"You know, I normally don't like veal but there must be some sort of seasoning on it that makes it taste amazing…" She paused a beat before adding, "Or maybe I'm just starting to like food again," and laughing somewhat dryly at the comment.

He covered her hand with his and patted it in a rare gesture of real affection and examined the menu that had been left at their table thoughtfully.

"Do you want to test the theory? The desserts sound delicious."

She laughed, eyeing the half-full plate before them.

"Maybe we should finish one thing before jumping into another," she began, then grinned at him. "On the other hand, why not?"

* * *

Ron was hunched over his books—a rare occurrence for him, but as the other option was shifting through musty trunks that were in the attic, for once he didn't mind. Ginny sat opposite him, humming idly and reading a letter that had just come in the post from a bird that looked suspiciously like Draco Malfoy's. Every so often she would smile to herself and allow a quiet giggle over it. She seemed almost giddy. 

It struck Ron that Ginny was never particularly giddy. She laughed, was cheerful, for the most part, but his sister had never struck him as… flighty. Even when she had gone through boyfriends like Honeydukes candy, she had never seemed quite like this. They were accessories to be acquired and dropped when their company began to grow dry, the lucky ones lasting a few months. She would giggle with her friends as they passed in the hall, but it really didn't matter to her.

Today, she glowed. No make-up accented her face, her hair was in an ordinary ponytail, and she was still in her pajamas, but her happiness was obvious. He didn't want to be the one to end it.

"Who's the letter from," he asked, falsely casual.

"Why?"

"Just curious." He knew the answer, but he was testing the waters. Talking about feelings didn't come naturally to Ronald Weasley.

"Why do you want to know?"

Why did younger siblings always as the stupid "why" questions? Ron wondered, conveniently ignoring the fact that he was a younger sibling himself.

"I dunno. Just wondering."

"If you must know—promise you won't freak out—Draco…"

He nodded, trying to remain relaxed. "I thought as much."

"Then why'd you ask?"

He shrugged, pretending to be fascinated with his parchment. "You really… like him then?"

He might be prepared to be somewhat open-minded for his sister's sake, but it felt horribly wrong to combine the concepts of _Draco Malfoy _and _love_.

"He's not the person he pretends to be, you know," she told him, staring wide-eyed at her brother. "He's… very sweet."

Ron fought the bile that rose up in his throat at the idea of Malfoy being sweet. "If it makes you happy," he replied bravely.

"Someone's in an accepting mood this morning," she teased, chewing on the end of her quill.

He wisely remained silent.

"It's a good thing, you know," she continued, toying with her hair. "You can be incredibly closed-minded sometimes. There's more to people than what you see."

"So I'm finding out," he answered acidly.

First his sister was in love with the one and only Draco Malfoy, and then Hermione was spending her vacation in Germany with Snape. The world had tipped off of its axis. They had all gone bloody mad.

As if on cue, an owl flew in the open kitchen window, dropping a letter from aforementioned friend before swooping out. Anxious to stop this conversation—it was far to in depth for his liking—Ron tore it open, surprised to see three separate letters fall out as opposed to the customary two for him and Harry.

"There's one for you," he told Ginny, flicking it in her direction.

For a moment she looked anxious, but quickly hid it with a somewhat forced smile as she skimmed over the letter quickly. She exhaled and set it down, looking up at him.

"Why the sudden interest in my love life?" she asked, steering him away from Hermione's correspondence.

"You're my sister, do I really need one?"

"Why the patience, then?" she pressed.

"What do you mean?"

Ginny rolled her eyes at him and made a noise that sounded like a sigh. "Ron, you hate Draco. Normally, by this point, you would be storming out the door with an axe in your hand shrieking death threats. I want to know what you did with my brother."

Ron found a sudden fascination with the table. "Well… the thing is, I was thinking and I decided that I'm not going to stop your… relationship… so the best thing is to accept it. I mean, er, the thing is, Gin, you're my only sister and I worry and… and… yeah…"

He trailed off into uncomfortable silence and made a pathetic attempt at a smile. He forced himself to look at Ginny, and to his surprise her eyes had filled with tears.

"Thanks," she whispered, reaching across the table to pat his hand. "It means a lot to me."

* * *

He watched her from his seat at the back of the room as she strode up looking confident and utterly sure of herself. She cast the charm that would allow herself to be heard and began to speak the words that he knew practically off by heart from her rehearsing the night before. She caught his eye for a moment and gave him a half-smile as reassurance; he let his grip on the armrest of his chair relax. 

He didn't listen to the words—every time he tried he felt as though all the panic she had felt this morning was unloaded onto his chest, making breathing difficult. Instead he concentrated on a piece of hair that had slid from its place, despite the pile of bobby pins that had been shoved randomly throughout her head, and was framing her face, bouncing as she spoke. He wasn't entirely sure what made it so fascinating, but it was much better than stressing. His breathing patterns had just begun to return to normal when the first person spoke up.

"But the Golden Shield is a myth," someone protested. "If it were real, someone would have used it."

Hermione bit her lip for a second, thinking of the best way to answer. "Not necessarily," she replied slowly. "Most myths have some sort of basis in fact, and I assure you that this one is real."

"But can you prove it?"

This last remark came from a short, portly man in the front, whose graying hair was tied back in a horsetail. For a moment irritation was visible on Hermione's face and Severus felt something catch in his throat, but a second later she had removed the stopper from the vial she was displaying and taken a sip. She gagged for a moment, then straightened.

"Hex me."

A general gasp went up around the auditorium.

"You asked me if I could prove it and I'm going to. Hex me."

The man's expression went from skeptical to somewhat bewildered as he failed to meet the steady hazel eyes that were boring into him. He remained still.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not asking you to try and kill me or anything, just a simple spell. The potion will repel anything."

The man stood, somewhat uncertain, and raised his wand.

"Stupefy!"

There was a flash of light and everyone in the room was blinded momentarily and when the light spots stopped dancing before his eyes, Severus was able to see that Hermione was unharmed. Strange to think that they had never considered testing the potion in this way.

She smiled at the challenger politely and continued in a voice with an undertone of steel, "Now if you don't mind…"

Sweating, he sat down and seemed to shrink under the stares he was receiving as Hermione continued her presentation.

* * *

"I'm very pleased with the way you handled that situation this morning," Severus told Hermione once they had finished ordering lunch, making her giggle. 

"You sound like my great aunt or something," she teased him. Making her voice uppity, she added, "Hermione, dear, I'm so proud of you…"

He mock-glared at her as he buttered a roll. "Be quiet."

"Yes, auntie," she replied, grinning.

He flicked a crumb at her and she laughed again, attracting the attention of the other people in the restaurant.

"Anyway," she continued, "I only did the first thing that came into my head. I was scared out of my wits to begin with, and that guy didn't help at all. I'm surprised that you didn't hear my heart from where I was standing."

"You did fine," he assured her. "There's nothing to worry about, just a bunch of presentations that will be remarkably anti-climactic after your display today and a banquet." He paused for a moment before saying good-naturedly, "I hate banquets."

"Do you really? I never would have guessed."

* * *

_Ginny,_

_I'm flattered that you would ask my counsel, but I don't know what to tell you. I can't believe that Harry would do something like that, but since you aren't one to lie, especially about something like this, I'll take your word for it. Honestly, I don't know what you should do. You say you can't tell your parents, so I won't try to convince you to, particularly since I don't know the details of what passed. All I can think of is that you should try not to be alone with him and keep some way of defending yourself nearby. (Under-age witches and wizards can use magic if they must.) _

_I'm sure that this letter won't be of much use to you—I won't insult your intelligence by pretending you couldn't think these things up on your own—but if it makes you feel better, I was invited to spend August with you, so you won't be in your room alone next month and I'm sure he won't try anything with two of us there. Anyway, Severus and I are going to dinner, so I have to go. _

_Take care and try not to do anything compromising,_

_Hermione_

Ginny read over the letter once again when she was in her room, feeling comforted by the knowledge that someone was on her side and that she wouldn't have to worry as much next month, when Hermione was around.

She skimmed through it once more, and squinted at something in the last paragraph. Hermione had referred to Professor Snape as Severus. Surely that wasn't usual. And they were going out for dinner? Definitely not.

Come to think of it, Hermione did spend an awful lot of time with the Potions Master, working on that project. Was it possible that there was something else going on? It was something to ponder on a rainy day.

Or right now, as time was allowing it…

Hermione hardly seemed the sort to have some sort of forbidden liaison, especially with a teacher, but on the other hand Hermione never really talked about her feelings. She could read other people like a book, but no one could ever quite figure her out. She was remarkably good at hiding.

Of course, it was Snape, and therefore the chances of him returning any feelings for her were small… But who was she to judge the hearts of Slytherin men?

She smiled to herself and flopped back onto her bed.

* * *

Hermione checked her reflection in the mirror one last time, fussing over her curls that were tumbling richly over her shoulders and covering her back, which was exposed by the dress. Four hours of showering, dressing, fixing her hair, and applying make-up and she still didn't feel ready. In fact, she felt more like Lavender or Parvati… Scary thought. 

Thankfully, the dress fit her better than it had over Christmas, which meant she must have put on at least a little weight. Rather than hanging loosely, it hugged her frame—although it was still not worthy of being compared to spandex.

She wondered how Severus was managing—that was a good thought; it distracted her from her own jittery nerves. She hoped that he wasn't being ridiculous and refusing to—was that a chip in her nail? Not now… Not when she'd spent half an hour with that stupid manicure charm, trying to get them to look just right.

Thank goodness, it was just a trick of the light. But what about the eyeliner? Was it too heavy? Was it smudging? Was her lipstick too red? And what about the dress? Would they realize that, despite all last minute modifications from her and Severus, it was indeed an article of muggle clothing? What if—

A knock on the door saved her from dissolving into worry.

"Hermione, are you still alive?"

"Yes! Are you disappointed?"

"Very much so. Now if you don't mind…"

"I'm coming!" she called out, snatching up her purse and making sure that her earrings hadn't fallen out mysteriously in the last split second.

She darted across the room as quickly as four-inch heels would allow and swung open the door, revealing Severus, his forehead creased. With some degree of amusement, she realized that he was as worried—if not more—than she. His eyes widened as her gave her the once over, and his approval was apparent in them, for which she was more than grateful. She needed all the confidence she could get.

"You should tie your hair back," she told him, trying to ignore the fact that her knees were turning to jelly at the feeling of his gaze caressing her. "It emphasizes your eyes."

He rolled them, but handed her a black hair tie and lowered himself so that she would be able to pull the black strands off of his face, although it was hardly necessary with her shoes.

"There," she announced when she had finished. "Now just let me add some blush and—"

"Definitely not," he pronounced, mouth twitching at the corners.

"Are you sure? It could do so much for you; if you would only let it…" came Hermione's teasing reply. "Well, if you insist, I suppose we should get going… You look wonderful, by the way."

"So do you," he replied, quirking an eyebrow. "Absolutely perfect. Shall we walk? I think we still have time to be fashionably late."

"Certainly," she replied, linking arms with him to keep her balance as they descended the stairwell. "So what are we going to do tomorrow?"

She didn't add on that she was unbelievably thankful for the extra day to explore. Severus had been dead accurate in his prediction that the rest of it would be anti-climactic after her display. Not that she minded learning, but nothing else had been remotely groundbreaking—just a lot of pompous-looking, decrepit wizards giving dull sermons about things she had already learned on midnight excursions to the Restricted Section of the library courtesy of Harry's invisibility cloak. Borrowed without his knowledge, naturally.

"You wanted to visit the Bach museum, didn't you? And then there's the—"

"Medieval apothecary's, yes…" Hermione interrupted, then flushed. "I was thinking in the evening…" she added, carefully avoiding looking at him directly. "I mean, you bought that suit and you haven't worn it anywhere yet, so you wouldn't want to have wasted the money…"

Luckily, he seemed entirely oblivious to her angle. "Of course," he agreed. "I'll try to find a nice restaurant somewhere."

He seemed _too _oblivious, especially for a Slytherin.

Silence followed the exchange as they passed under the lamps that were just beginning to turn on as dusk settled in. She leaned on his arm more the further they walked, more because she wanted to than because her feet were sore and he made no complaint. When they finally drew near, he turned to her with a serious expression.

"Be careful who you talk to in there. I wouldn't turn my back on most of them."

"Why do you say so?" she asked, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Let's just say that they have somewhat twisted pleasures… Comes from spending too much time in a research lab."

"So that order would include you as well, I suppose?"

He grinned wolfishly down at her. "You have no idea…"

"Don't worry, I think it's sweet."

The smile turned to a squint as he tried to decipher her meaning. "Sweet?" he repeated.

"That you worry."

She patted his cheek condescendingly and turned to head indoors.

* * *

Draco jerked up suddenly as he sensed someone behind him. 

"Draco."

He jumped about a foot in the air, trying to mask his irritation. His nerves were already on edge as it was, and the fact that his father kept creeping up on him at odd moments really wasn't helping.

"Yes, father."

Sarcasm. Sarcasm that his father wouldn't miss. Sarcasm was bad.

"We have been summoned."

"_We?_" Draco repeated, stunned. Since when had he… Right. The day that he had agreed to…

He couldn't even think it.

As his father dropped a mask into his lap, Draco could only think one word, repeated over and over in his mind.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. _

Which was odd, considering that he had never been one to use profanity.

He knew that he had no choice. It was this or death. And to die right now would do nothing to protect her.

Fuck.

His father was calling. He had to go. He didn't want to. He didn't think that he could take it…

The last rational thought that he had before going completely numb was to realize that he hadn't eaten dinner. In his deranged state of mind, he didn't think that it was a particularly strange thing to notice at a time like this. Logic was beyond him.

* * *

"No, really, it was almost a complete accident that I found it… Well, I mean, I'd heard it mentioned, but I never dreamed that it would just be _sitting _there," Hermione explained, trying to hide how uncomfortable she felt with so many bodies pressed around her that were anxious for answers. Not to mention that the words flowing from her mouth were sounding less intelligent by the second. 

"There's a saying in my tongue, that magic can only be found if it _wants _to be found," a witch to rival Dumbledore in age told her in an accent that Hermione couldn't quite place.

Hermione squinted at her, positive that she hadn't noticed the woman before, but was prevented from inquiring by a voice from behind her.

"Miss Granger, I believe."

She shuddered as a cool hand brushed the small of her back, and turned reluctantly away from the group she was conversing with.

"Yes?"

"I owe you an apology, I think."

She tried with all her might not to shy away from the man who was breathing down her neck. She recognized his drawl as that of the man who had challenged her during her presentation, though his appearance was difficult to recall, but at the moment revenge was far from her thoughts. All she wanted was to get away.

When she made no reply, he persisted. "If you don't mind, I would like to do so over a dance."

She frantically tried to think of a way to refuse him without provocation, but her chest had tightened with fear and the glass of champagne in her hand trembled.

"She is taken."

If anything, the sense of anxiety tripled at the sound of another, even more familiar voice. What the hell was Viktor Krum doing here?

"Herm-own-ninny," he said once the other man had walked off, brushing her arm with his fingers.

"Viktor." She still didn't turn as she spoke. And he still couldn't pronounce her bloody name right. "Fancy meeting you here."

She wasn't entirely sure why she was being so cold to him. It wasn't as if they had ended on poor terms; the distance had simply become too much to handle. A small part of her whispered that it was because she knew Severus was watching her from across the room and she didn't want him to think…

She let the thought trail off—it was one that was better left alone.

"I thought that since you vere coming, it vould be nice to see you. Your presentation was very good."

His accent had improved somewhat, she thought absently as her teacher speaking stiltedly to a woman that was flirting caught her eye.

Now _that _was a sight. She grinned at the idea of Severus trying to escape and turned to Viktor with a smile. 

"Yes, it is nice. I haven't heard from you in quite a while…"

"Ven you stopped answering my letters…"

Was that an accusing tone? Sweet Merlin, someone had explained how to create verbal emotion in a way that made her shift slightly with guilt.

"Look, I'm really really sorry about that," she told him, meeting his gaze. "I was having a bit of a tough time and I didn't think that you needed to hear… What I mean is it wasn't anything to do with you, life just went a little crazy on me."

He smiled a little sadly, in a way that reminded her of a kicked puppy.

"If you want to start writing again, I'll actually reply," she tried, wishing he would stop looking at her like that.

His expression didn't change, but he said, "I think you haff—how do you say?—grown up."

Feeling puzzled, she looked down at a crack in the floor and studied it extensively for a moment before replying, "I hope, for my own sake, if no one else's, that I have."

They shared a moment of silence, before she noticed Severus making gestures at her to come and help him escape from cleavage-woman.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to go rescue someone," she told him. "It was nice seeing you again."

As she strode away, she looked reluctantly back at the man she was leaving behind and felt a stab of pity for him, before brushing it aside. He was a world-famous athlete. No doubt he would forget her name within minutes of being surrounded by fans and all the better for both of them.

When she remembered to look, she noticed with a muttered curse that the old woman had disappeared.

* * *

"Ginny, dear, what are you reading?" 

"I'm working on my Transfiguration homework," she lied quickly, slipping the self defense book that she had smuggled from the nearby muggle library into the crack in the armchair and trying desperately to keep her face impassive.

It wouldn't matter to Molly Weasley that two of the off-duty aurors had come with her as bodyguards or that everything done had been perfectly within the law (with, perhaps, the exception of Tonks disabling the barcode detector at the entrance so that the librarian wouldn't notice as the book was removed from the premises). These were dangerous times and Mrs. Weasley either failed or refused to notice that her youngest child was teetering on the edge of sixteen. Not to mention that the last thing Ginny need was for anyone to ask her why she was reading about martial arts when she had a wand at her disposal.

She stole a glance over at Harry, who was innocently losing at chess to Ron.

"Do you need help with anything?" she asked, trying desperately to sound like someone trying to escape the inescapable reality of work. "I can help do the dishes if you'd like."

"No, everything's quite all right. Just go back to your homework."

But Ginny didn't return to the book. Not while everyone was still staring at her. Rather, she fingered her wand and pondered what her odds would be if Harry _did _attack her. She would really rather not use magic—it would mean having to explain where explanation could be dangerous—but if she did then there would be a fairly good chance of her getting let off of the hook, even though she would have a black mark beside her name. Her best hope at the moment was to continue on with what she had been doing—avoiding him. But if that failed…

With a grim resolve, she pulled the book back onto her lap and began to read where she had left off. If that failed, then she would be ready using whatever means necessary.

* * *

A gloved hand tapping him on the shoulder relieved him of the woman trying in vain to catch his interest. She was a shapely blonde—pretty, he admitted—but all of that had been lost on him twenty seconds into the conversation, when he began to doubt her ability to string an intelligent sentence together. So it was with more than gratitude that he turned to receive Hermione. 

"Dance with me," she hissed between clenched teeth. "Viktor Krum is over there, and I think I just completely shot him down but he doesn't realise it yet. I really don't want to have to talk to him again just yet."

"That idiot of a Quidditch player that took you to the Yule—"

"Yes, him," she snapped, seizing his hands and beginning to sway carefully to the music. "Now don't just stand there—help me!"

Severus sent a scornful glance over his shoulder at the woman by the punch bowl, before agreeing readily.

* * *

"You will have until the Hallowe'en feast—a little more than three months—to gain this trust you say that you lack. No more. You are dismissed." 

Lucius Malfoy gripped his son's shoulder and they disappeared from sight, apparating onto the lawn of Malfoy Manor. For a moment, neither of them spoke and it was all Draco could do to disguise the horrible shaking feeling inside. He started at the feeling of a firm pressure on his arm but forced himself remain motionless.

"Relax. Your fear makes you weak."

"Yes, father," Draco replied, swallowing hard as he tried to forget his first face-to-face encounter with the Dark Lord.

"Do you see now that this is the only way?"

Draco held back what was on the tip of his tongue. _The only way for a coward._

"I would have spared you this until you were older, but I was overruled."

He shrunk back at this revelation. Was his father actually admitting to feeling something? It was a frightening thought—one with the power to shatter all of Draco's resolutions.

Lucius shook his head and began to head inside. Without turning his head, he added in his usual cold tone, "You are my son and will do what you must. A true Slytherin and, more importantly, a Malfoy. If I have managed to teach you anything, let that be it."

The older man disappeared through the carved stone doors, leaving his son to contemplate the meaning of his words.

_Do what you must…_

* * *

The breeze stirring the air was warm as Hermione approached the edge of the balcony, eyes fixed on the fountain below. Severus came up behind her and she leaned back into him, inhaling his scent deeply. 

"It's a beautiful evening," she murmured into his cloak.

"Indeed."

One of his arms slid around her waist and she let it rest there, trying to keep her breathing from speeding up as he leaned down to whisper into her ear.

"Almost as lovely as you."

She twisted around to look at him, trying not to look too pleased by this.

"Was that a compliment, Professor Snape?"

"What did you take it for, Miss Granger?"

She grinned up at him before abandoning all caution to the wolves and pulling his head down to hers, burying her fingers in his hair and allowing his lips to caress her throat gently.

"It's a pity that I forgot my turtleneck," she commented when he finally subsided.

He raised an eyebrow at her in question and she smiled innocently.

"I have a feeling that I'll be wanting it tomorrow."

She felt him chuckle and he resumed, not quite so gently this time.

"Can you imagine the reaction if someone saw us?" she giggled to him.

"Just picture the headlines…"

"Outrage."

"Scandal."

"Everyone from here to Tokyo would know…"

"And there would be a large movement to preserve your virtue…"

"Harry or Ron would challenge you to a duel."

"Which I would of course win."

"Don't be so modest," she teased.

"I'm perfectly serious. They would be scraping the entrails off of the walls for months."

"Severus…" she reprimanded, fighting to keep from laughing.

"Hermione…" he replied, imitating her tone. "No, really, I'm quite enjoying the images coming from this. To do away with Potter…" he sighed wistfully, making Hermione giggle again. "Is there anyone's attention we _can_ attract?"

"Viktor Krum," Hermione suggested, peering over his shoulder into the hall. "If we can tear him away from that woman you were talking to earlier—her cleavage, rather."

"That could prove interesting…"

"Or how about the creep who was breathing down my neck earlier…"

Severus stiffened. "You failed to mention that."

"Relax, he didn't do anything. It was just the idiot who made a scene during my presentation—I suppose that it was his version of an apology."

"If he comes near you again—"

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself," she assured him.

"I seem to recall that line from you before," he pointed out acidly. "Only last time it had several conveniently placed adverbs."

Hermione felt the heat rise up in her face. "I've apologized for that already!"

"I know…" he sighed heavily. "Can you forgive a selfish old bastard?"

The anger drained from her as quickly as it had come and she wrapped her arms around him carefully.

"Of course I can."

* * *

When they finally returned to the flat, it was well after four in the morning and Hermione could barely keep from teetering dangerously in her heels. She leaned wearily on Severus as he unlocked the door and nearly fell asleep in the process. 

"Have I mentioned that your hair looks particularly nice like that?" she commented blearily, staring at him through half-open eyes as he led her inside.

"Several times," he yawned. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Just water," she mumbled. "Please."

He disappeared into the tiny kitchen, and she flopped down on his bed, too tired to realize that her impossible hair was becoming mussed in the process. She closed her eyes, intending to only rest them for a moment as she awaited Severus's return, but when she next opened them, she was attired in her pajamas with the dress hanging over a nearby chair, swathed in blankets, with the sun streaming through the open window. The faint scent of breakfast wafted towards her and she realized that she was as ravenous as she was reluctant to move. Gradually, she dragged herself out of the bed and padded into the next room, sitting down at the kitchen table across from Severus.

"There areeggs on the stove," he informed her, taking a sip of coffee. "And sausages as well."

"What time is… I thought you couldn't cook…" she mumbled, yawning hugely.

"It's not quite eleven, and my extremely limited culinary skills _do _extend to scrambled eggs and sausage."

She stared at him blearily before making her way to the stove.

"No more morning coffee for you, I think," she said dryly. "There were too many big words in that sentence."

He chuckled as she sat back down and attempted to stab a bit of egg with her fork unsuccessfully.

"By the way, did you…" She flushed and looked away, unsure of how to broach the subject. "The clothes," she managed to choke out finally. "Did you change them?"

"It was a spell," he replied, looking amused. "I saw nothing."

Her blush deepened and she began to giggle embarrassedly.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" she commented, changing the topic with her typical subtlety. "We don't want to waste it."

* * *

By noon the next day, Ginny had already learned how to break someone's grip on her neck, remove a person who was sitting on you, block a punch, and take out an attacker's knees. In theory. She was now wishing with all of her might that she had someone to practice with, but there was no one who wouldn't become suspicious if she asked. Well, maybe Mad-Eye Moody, but he would probably hex her by accident… She really didn't need that. 

Fred or George might, but they were living in Hogsmeade, which presented a problem. Ron would look at her as if she were insane. Harry… definitely not. The Order were all too busy with fighting Voldemort, so they were out. Except for perhaps Lupin…

She furrowed her brow in thought. He most likely would agree to help, if she could work up the nerve to approach him.

It wasn't that he frightened her. Not in the least. It was just that since the death of his friend last year, he had kept mostly to himself and only spoke when spoken to. Everything he did was done with a careful patience, making him ideal for Ginny's purpose. And his withdrawn behavior would work to her advantage—the less said the better.

She headed out of her bedroom, trying to establish Remus Lupin's most likely location.

The kitchen?

She poked her head in, saw her mother washing dishes, and made a run for it.

Sitting room?

Multiple chess and exploding snap games, but still no Lupin.

Attic?

Not unless he preferred inhaling dust bunnies to oxygen.

Library?

Didn't appear to be… No, wait, over in the corner…

She approached him carefully—he had been spending a lot of time around Moody, after all.

"Um, excuse me?" she said unsurely, the words coming out as a question.

He looked up, shifting in the armchair and smiling kindly.

"Miss Weasley, this is a pleasant surprise."

He motioned that she should sit opposite him, and she obeyed without comment.

"Actually, sir, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

He leaned forward, his alert eyes focused on her in interest and Ginny realized with a degree of shock that he hadn't lost his marbles yet, as everyone seemed to suppose. In fact, he seemed even saner than ever.

"You see, I'm in a bit of a—situation—at the moment… It's complicated… And I was wondering—if you had any spare time—if it would be possible to learn muggle self defense."

She winced at his ponderous silence.

"It's a stupid idea, I know—" she tried when he didn't reply.

"Not at all," he objected. "But why come to me?"

She tried not to flush under his piercing gaze as she replied, "You're the only person in the house who won't ask questions."

"I see… This is about Harry, isn't it?"

"I'd really rather not discuss it," she said shortly.

He nodded once. "That's what I thought."

She looked at him with bewilderment. "How did you know?"

Lupin's jaw tightened slightly as he told her, somewhat angrily, "Anyone with half a brain should be able to see that Harry isn't the boy he used to be. That includes—"

He stopped abruptly and moved to the window.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

"It's all right."

"I'm quite surprised that you would choose a physical defense over magic," he commented after a lull.

She had the feeling that he was testing her in some way, but she didn't know what for, so she made the safest reply she could think of.

"What if, for some reason, I can't use magic?"

He turned and faced her once again.

"You're far ahead of most of the wizarding world in your thinking. They seem to feel that anything not involving magic is not worthwhile."

Ginny heard an underlying bitterness in his tone, but chose not to comment.

"Can you help me?" she asked, desperately wanting a straight answer.

He sighed heavily and met her gaze. "I can try."

* * *

Hermione and Severus leaned against the towering statue of Johann Sebastian Bach, Hermione drinking from a bottle of water while looking every inch the diligent student in a white blouse, unbuttoned to reveal a camisole of the same colour, knee-length plain black skirt finished with slightly heeled sandals and Severus staring up dubiously. 

"Nice hair," he commented finally, referring to the statue.

"Not as nice as yours," she replied, grinning.

"I resent that."

"I thought you would. So, shall we go in?"

The first thing that struck Severus upon entering the museum was the blinding whiteness of the walls. He blinked, then refocused on the original scores of music displayed in glass cases and the harpsichord in the corner. Beside him, Hermione reached out to brush the instrument lightly with her fingers, about to ignore the cord that was blocking it off before thinking better of it and moved towards the headphones available to listen to the music. After a moment, he heard the faint sound of her humming to a menuet that she was listening to. He found himself caught by the graceful way she wove through the display, completely engrossed, and something welled up inside of him—a sense of pride that he had helped bring her to this point and something else… something not so straightforward.

Rather than dwell on it, he studied the score more closely, finding fascination in the fact that dots drawn on lines could create something so much more while shutting out the titters of a large group of tourists that had entered the room. He began wandering from room to room, studying the portraits (the man really was in desperate need of a new wig or stylist or _something…_) and nearly walking into a bust that some incompetent person had placed directly in his way. When Hermione caught up to him, he was leafing through a pamphlet that he couldn't understand due to linguistic difficulties.

"I didn't think that you'd be this interested," she commented to him as he set down the leaflet.

"You weren't alone," he replied, glancing curiously at the box in her hands. "What is that?"

"A gift for my mother. It's a bust of Bach."

"I see… Shall we go, then?"

"Right, I wanted to talk about we're going to do next. I know you wanted to visit the apothecary's, but I was talking to the woman at the front desk and she told me about this thing—it's called Ebers' papyrus and it's on display at some museum… in a building called Thuringer Hof, where there's some sort of Egyptian display, I think she said. It's a sort of scroll full of ancient Egyptian potions and such… I thought you might be interested. Apparently it's usually kept in the university library, where it's not open to the public."

He looked at the clock hanging on the wall and replied, "Well, we still have plenty of time, don't we? Why don't we do both?"

She nodded. "That works."

Shifting the position of the box under her arm, she led the way out.

"Why don't we drop that off at the flat first?" he suggested dryly. "Otherwise I have this feeling I'll be carrying it by the end of the day."

"You're a bright one… Anyway, it's just down the street," came the casual remark.

He sighed, thinking how typical it was for her to go about arranging things without waiting to check with him, then smiled remembering a time when the only person who had done so was Albus and, well, this was different.

* * *

It took a while for them to locate the museum, mostly due to Severus's navigating skills and when they finally found it, half an hour had passed and Hermione's purchase had, as predicted, changed hands. 

"I don't see why you couldn't just ask for directions. It was only just down the street. Now we won't have time for anything else," she teased as they pushed their way through the glass doors and paused as Severus paid. "At least this time the map wasn't of Moscow or something."

As he did, Hermione studied a glass case containing a wooden sarcophagus several feet tall with intricately carved hieroglyphics.

"It's hard to imagine such a different civilization," she murmured when she felt him approach.

His mouth curved in silent agreement, and he offered her his arm as they walked up the polished stone steps companionably. When they reached the display of artifacts, they split up without a word and silently examined the display.

Hermione winced as she moved around display cases; painfully aware of the value of the objects that she was passing and the balance she had in her current choice of footwear. So absorbed was she in trying to walk straight, that she nearly walked straight into a display case. Veering at the last second, her ankle turned and she was forced to make a remarkable recovery before smashing headlong into another display. She leaned over the item she had nearly broken to cover up her near miss—damn these heels—and furrowed her brow, imagining the cost of the scarab. Glancing up, she blushed as she noticed that nearly everyone had paused to watch her escapades and hurriedly looked back down, ignoring the faint laughter that reached her ears.

Eventually overcoming her mortification, she straightened and joined Severus at the wall, where an eighteen-metre scroll was hanging slightly above eye-level with almost every possible space covered in arcane characters.

"Imagine what we could learn from them," he whispered in her ear, "if only they had written the right things down."

She looked up at him curiously, trying to fathom the meaning of his words.

"Dark wizards are hardly a recent acquisition," he explained before she could say anything.

She leaned in to squint at it before turning to him, a playful glimmer in her eyes.

"Well, I don't see what's so special about it," she commented airily, about to walk away. "The ancient Egyptians came up with it, and they only invented the wheel."

His bewildered expression quickly turned to amusement. "This is somewhat more significant than a rolling suitcase."

She laughed before replying, "But the wheel is used for far more than just suitcases… But, you know, I'm not even sure that the Egyptians _did _invent the wheel, now that you mention it. Might have been the Greeks…"

His only reply was to curl his lip into a sneer, which would have been far more frightening had he been able to keep a straight face. Mutely, they went their separate ways once again until they met up as if by agreement at the top of the staircase.

"Dinner?" Severus suggested.

She nodded. "I saw a place next door on the way in. I think it has German cuisine," he continued, leading her to the main floor and out into the street.

"Aren't we just the expert today?" she teased him.

* * *

"So you live here then?" Hermione asked, approaching the people who were standing a short ways away from her, growing impatient with Severus. How long did it take to go to the washroom anyway? Especially considering the gender factor. 

The two young women and man nodded and Hermione flashed a smile.

"Must be nice…" she sighed. "It's so beautiful."

They were still looking at her in a puzzled manner, and Hermione could see why. Judging by the black clothing and dark eye make-up, these were most likely people who were generally used to being avoided and not having random tourists come over and attempt conversations.

"I like your boots," she added to the girl on her left, referring to the knee-high lace-ups she was wearing.

Her smile was polite, albeit somewhat confused, and Hermione had to laugh.

"I'm sorry, I don't usually do this… You do speak English, right? Because I'd feel really stupid if you didn't."

"Of course we do," the only male in the group confirmed.

"That's a relief. Look, I'm really sorry for just barging up to you and starting a conversation. It must be really awkward for you. The person I'm waiting for is just coming… I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. It was nice to meet you!"

She waved at them before hurrying over to Severus, who was exiting the restaurant and eyeing the strangers suspiciously.

"Were they harassing you?" he questioned.

"Oh, no, it was more the other way around," she replied lightly.

"Are you sure? Because they look like they could belong to a cult of some sort… Perhaps even undercover Death Eaters."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, they're just Goths!"

"Well, that's certainly a relief," he replied sarcastically.

"They're just ordinary people," she shot back defensively. "When I was a kid, our neighbors had an exchange student from Hamburg stay with them for a few months and she was one… She as perfectly polite and respectful—more so, even—as anyone else and no offense, but judging by most people's standards, you're in no position to judge anyone by aesthetics."

He chuckled at this remark, but Hermione wasn't finished.

"Besides, just look around and see how many there are. Why would He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named bother sending this many people _here. _I mean, really. When you think world domination, you don't exactly think Leipzig."

"All right, you win!" he laughed, raising his arms in surrender. "But still… didn't your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?"

She smacked him on the arm as they began walking. "So," she asked, "Where to now?"

* * *

Hermione slipped into the flat after him and waited on the couch with her legs drawn up. After supper, they had gone dancing and he had whirled her around so hard that she had nearly fallen. She had laughed so much in the last few hours that her abdomen hurt and even now, she could barely hold back giggles—over what she wasn't sure. Presently, as he came out of the kitchen bearing two glasses of champagne and smiling, she felt her stomach do another one of the flip-flops that it had been doing all evening. 

"Whatever happened to no under-age drinking?" she teased, taking the one he offered her. "You _are _responsible for me."

"Two months early shouldn't make much of a difference," he replied with a slight smile, raising his glass. "To you, my dear, for the best display I've seen in a long time—putting a grown man in his place."

She looked at him shyly, before adding, "And to you, for helping me do it."

They clinked the glasses together and each took a sip. Hermione spluttered for a moment afterwards.

"It's very… bubbly," she commented once she had swallowed properly. "But good."

Severus looked amused through half-closed eyes. "How observant."

They finished their drinks in silence, and once they had Hermione glanced at him sideways through her lashes.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For the champagne?" he asked. "It was nothing."

"Not just the champagne, all of this." She waved her hand around as she spoke, gazing directly into his eyes. "The experience or opportunity or whatever you want to call it. It's been wonderful."

If asked later, neither of them would be able to explain what had happened. One moment the were on opposite ends of the couch, the next, Hermione was pushed up against one of the arms with Severus's mouth was fastened on hers, bringing with it a multitude of sensations that she had never felt before. She wasn't completely sure what _she _was doing, but she was acutely aware of every one of his movements—his hands tracing her outline as they helped her out of her blouse and fingering the strap of her camisole before it slid down her shoulder, the heaving of his chest as he breathed on her neck, the ends of his hair brushing against her skin, and oh, God, what was that pressing against her leg… In the vortex that was her mind she knew only one thing. She didn't ever want it to stop.

Gently, she began to first finger the collar of his shirt—then, when that proved to not be enough, unbutton it. Finishing off the rest of the buttons, she slid her hands down his pale torso, enjoying the warmth that seemed to reverberate off of him.

He began kissing his way down her neck and along her collarbone while she shifted so that her legs were twined around one of his. His mouth found a sensitive spot on the back of her shoulder and it sent sparks shooting through her brain so suddenly that she couldn't resist a moan. She moved her hands further down his body until they were at his hips and, curiously, ran them delicately across his lower torso and over the bulge that had formed there. His resulting gasp was more than worth it.

"Dear gods, Hermione…"

Somehow, the sound of her name on his tongue like that did more for her than anything else had so far. His hand began finding its way up her skirt and for a moment she wondered if she had any degree of self-control left, but then the thought was quickly replaced by a burning need to kiss him, to know every inch of him…

In the midst of it all, he paused and straightened, eyes alert.

"Did you hear something?"

Bewildered, she shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but he shushed her and a faint crackling reached her ears.

"The wards," he whispered. "They're being tested."

Her eyes widened in fear and she stared at him in a manner reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights.

"Quick," he ordered, his voice still hushed. "Before they break through. Grab your bags. We need to get out."

She jumped to her feet, adjusting the strap of her shirt and straightening her skirt as she darted into her bedroom, thankful that she had kept almost everything in her suitcase. What wasn't already packed was tossed in frantically and just before leaving she remembered the bust of Bach, which she snatched up as an afterthought along with a small vial of her potion that was not under lock and key.

When she returned to the main room, she took a sip from the flask and handed it over, Severus doing the same. Then, he wordlessly grabbed her arm and they disapparated, leaving only two empty crystal glasses and a white blouse strewn over one arm of the sofa as a sign that they had been there.

A/N: A quick thanks to all the reviewers, readers who aren't reviewers, and everyone else who is helping me out here... You're all darlings!


	16. 15 Bitten

Disclaimer: I happen to own a lot of things, in spite of the fact that I am poor. The HP universe is not one of them. This can be simply deduced by the fact that if I did own it, I would no longer be poor.

Perfection

Chapter 15: Bitten

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, looking around inquiringly.

"In Paris, I think," he replied.

"Paris?" she repeated.

"We need to cover our tracks, don't we? We can't just lead them straight to where we are."

He was being short with her, and even in the dim lighting, she could see the tense lines etched on his face, so she knew better than to test him. Well, being in Paris explained the accordion music coming from a nearby restaurant. He dragged her a few feet away, then they apparated again.

Materializing beside her, he muttered, "Serbia," before she could ask. Not that it mattered anyway, because they were gone before she could so much as glance around.

Five such stops after, she couldn't stand it anymore and before he could disapparate, she blurted out, "I'm going to be sick," and sprinted into the closest tavern's washroom.

Once she had finished expelling her dinner into a toilet, she splashed her face with cold water and exited, staring around with curiosity at the weather-beaten fishermen around her, talking drunkenly in accents that rolled off their tongues and were barely recognizable as English. The room grew silent as they gradually noticed her in their midst, and she took the opportunity to dash out. Behind her, she heard the noise pick up again and she hurried over to Severus.

"Now where are we?" she asked, sending a confused look over her shoulder at the still partially light sky.

"In a place called St. John's, Newfoundland," he informed her tersely. "Now, if you don't mind, I really would like to arrive back at Hogwarts _alive_…"

She nodded, and a moment later, she found herself in a familiar setting.

"Why are we _here_?" she asked, eyes widening.

He closed his eyes, and it was only now, in the dim kitchen light, that she realized how much the trips had exhausted him. In fact, she wondered just _how_ he had done it.

"Hello? Who's there?"

Agrippa's voice floated faintly down the staircase.

"It's only us, Mum," Hermione called back.

A moment later, she had joined them in the kitchen and the lights were flicked on.

"It's a pre-set destination apparating charm," he told her. "They all were. Gifts mostly. The one to Newfoundland was from an exchange student with a strange sense of humour about ten years back who decided that I needed to get drunk. The rest of them… Who knows?"

Hermione wondered vaguely why he had one that led to her house, but was still too stunned to ask. He turned to her mother and continued talking.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger, but I'm going to have to ask you to come with us. It's no longer safe for you to stay here, at least not for now."

She seemed about to protest, but Hermione silenced her with a look.

"What about my work?" she asked quietly, looking worried.

"It's just the house that isn't safe," Severus told her, trying not look overly irritated. "You can still go into work. Now, go upstairs and pack whatever you'll be needing as quickly as possible. If you miss anything, I'm sure Molly will be happy to supply it."

Hermione felt surprise at someone ordering her mother around so naturally, especially as her mother scurried up the staircase, looking chastised.

"You and I, Hermione," he announced once she was upstairs, "will be warding the house."

"Why? It's not like anyone will be in it…"

He shot a slightly wicked grin in her direction and replied, "It will give our friends something to do."

* * *

Ginny awoke in the middle of the night to a crash downstairs. Heart thudding, she snatched up her wand and wrapped a blanket around herself before proceeding to unlock the door and slip out. Around her, lights flashed on and shouts could be heard as the rest of the house's occupants were startled out of sleep and hurried downstairs.

"Nice," Hermione's voice rang out. "The coffee table is a great landing pad."

"Well, excuse me, Miss Granger, but at least I _can_ apparate."

"Just because I've never tried doesn't mean I can't… Mum, are you okay?"

Ginny, along with her parents, brothers, Harry, Lupin, and several aurors stood in a semi-circle around the three figures and the broken coffee table.

"Arthur, Molly," Snape said curtly. "I hope you don't mind, but Miss Granger and her mother will be spending the remainder of the summer here… Perhaps longer."

Ginnys' mother smiled, still looking somewhat dazed, and replied, "Of course we don't! I'm Molly Weasley, and you are…?"

"Agrippa Granger," the woman with an uncanny resemblance to Hermione replied. "And if you would excuse me, I think I'm going to…"

She was cut off in mid-sentence as she fainted, mercifully missing the bits of broken glass. While panic ensued as everyone tried to think of the best way to revive her, Ginny glanced over to where Hermione and Snape were standing, arguing in hushed tones.

"What the hell are you thinking? It's too dangerous right now. The report can wait until morning."

"Hermione…"

Ginny was caught by the tenderness in his eyes as he regarded her.

"Severus…"

"This is who I am. I can't help it. It has to be done. Now."

"You're right," Hermione whispered, and Ginny noticed that the other girl was blinking back tears. "You're always bloody right. Just try not to do anything stupid."

The redhead forced herself to look away as they embraced and focused on the crisis at hand, praying that no one else had chosen to glance over.

* * *

It took all of her willpower not to cry, but somehow she pulled it off. If she did, then he would be right and she _would _be nothing but a silly girl. And she still couldn't stand the thought of that. She watched him disapparate as a sick feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach, then turned to watch her mother weakly sip a cup of tea while resting on the sofa.

Hermione settled on the armchair where she would be able to look out of the window—even though common sense was telling her it wouldn't help—and was faintly surprised when Ginny sat on the next nearest chair.

"I just wanted to say thanks for answering my letter. It was a lot of help."

"No problem," Hermione replied, turning to face the younger girl. "Anytime."

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Ginny asked, watching closely for a reaction.

"Who, Harry?"

"No, Professor Snape," she clarified.

Hermione felt her chest tighten as she replied, "Of course he will. Don't be ridiculous."

"You like him, don't you?" Ginny asked casually.

"I admire him, yes—"

"You know what I mean."

An icy wall slid across Hermione's face as she inquired, "What are you going to do about it?"

"Not a thing. It's your life, and I'm not going to be the one telling you how to live it."

Hermione released a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding. "So why are you asking?"

"Because I'm a nosy bitch," she drawled with a grin.

Hermione smiled at this, "Yeah, one who's spent a little too much time with the one and only Draco Malfoy."

"Hey, I'm not criticizing your choice, even though he does need a haircut. Desperately."

"Who needs a haircut?" Ron broke in, growing tired of the other conversation. "Hey, 'Mione."

"Yeah, that was one enthusiastic greeting," she retorted. "And no one needs a haircut."

"Long time no see," Harry commented, whacking her on the arm lightly.

Hermione laughed. "Thankfully."

"Ouch. It bites. Too much time around our dear Potions Professor," Ron asserted. "I knew that there had to be some sort of long-term psychological effects."

"Wow, did I just hear a five-syllable word come out of Ronald Weasley's mouth? Someone slap me. I'm in shock," Hermione shot back, before a grin invaded her face. "It's good to see you again."

* * *

Hermione opened an eye the next morning, wondering vaguely what had awakened her. She enjoyed basking in the sunlight that was pouring in for a moment, until she recalled last night's events. Panic made her shoot out from underneath the covers, tripping over clothing that Ginny had strewn across the floor and nearly falling in her rush to get down the stairs. She dashed into the kitchen first, her heart sinking when she found he wasn't there, then, refusing to give up on him, continued straight on through to the living room.

She found him sitting in solitude, sipping a cup of coffee and flipping idly through the Daily Prophet.

"You're here!" she exclaimed, flinging herself over the back of the sofa like an over-excited puppy and landing on him, causing him to spill his drink everywhere.

"How very observant of you."

She wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his shoulder, completely oblivious to the fact that her pajamas were now soaked in coffee and he embraced her tightly.

"Er, Severus?" she began after a minute.

"Yes?"

"I can't breathe…"

He released her and took her face in his hands, tracing the outline of her jaw. "Relax," he whispered, trying to calm her trembling.

"I don't think I can."

He lowered his mouth down to hers and she felt him shift his weight so that he was kneeling. Closing her eyes, she embraced the moment, forgetting everything including the fear that someone might walk in on them.

"Hermione!"

They broke apart abruptly, moments before Hermione's mother wandered into the room, looking dazed and confused.

"Yes, mum?"

"What are you doing?" She eyed them suspiciously, taking in the rumpled clothing and coffee stains.

"Cleaning up a spill," she lied quickly, looking around frantically for a napkin.

"Yes," Severus agreed. "Now, where did I put my wand?"

Hermione nearly choked, but clearly the other two missed the innuendo.

"Are you all right, honey?" Agrippa asked, peering at her curiously.

"Yes, of course… I was just clearing my throat. Anyway, you wanted something?"

"Oh, right. Of course. Can you tell me where the kitchen is?"

* * *

Agrippa sighed heavily as she stirred milk her coffee mutely, ignoring the chatter of the others sitting around her, and vaguely remembering a time when she had never drank anything except herbal tea. Though she had been too much in shock to feel it then, the previous night's events had caught up with her, leaving her drained and wan. At least she would still be able to work… If not, she was positive she would run mad, what with all of the noise and things that she had been refusing to dwell on.

Like Hermione. The girl was completely different around these people that she was at home. She was deep in conversation with her teacher at the other end of the table, looking much older than her sixteen years—almost seventeen now, she reminded herself—despite the tousled hair and pajamas that she was still wearing. More than ever, Agrippa felt the gap between her and her daughter's worlds. Exhaling again, she tried not to regret how much of Hermione's childhood she had missed out on, offering herself the bittersweet knowledge that either way she would have gone away for the remainder of her schooling.

* * *

Hermione looked up from her Transfiguration essay and watched Severus turn the page in his book, smiling as she did so. As if sensing her eyes on him, he jerked up sharply and, noticing her expression, grumbled, "Surely your essay isn't as witty as you make it out to be."

"Oh, but it is," she replied, chewing on the end of her quill thoughtfully.

Both of their heads jerked up as the library door banged open to reveal Remus Lupin, closely followed by Ginny.

"Severus," Lupin said not impolitely, giving a curt nod in his direction. "Hermione."

The look he gave her was slightly less guarded, with a touch of curiosity at what they were doing, locked up in the library alone together.

"Remus."

Lupin looked slightly taken aback at the lack of animosity in Severus's tone and Ginny took the opportunity to slip into the room, glancing between the two men anxiously.

"What now?" she inquired quietly.

"Leave them be," he replied to her, holding the door open on the way out.

She nodded, her jaw tightening determinedly. Once they had left, Severus turned to her, eyebrow raised.

"Don't ask me," she told him.

"I wasn't."

Both of them went back to their previous activities as a companionable silence overtook them and they remained in that position until they were called down for supper hours later.

* * *

"It's nice that I don't have to barricade my door anymore," Ginny commented wryly as she pulled her blankets around her chin.

From across the room, Hermione laughed softly. "Are you sure he wasn't just kidding around?"

The other girl sat up angrily. "Are you accusing me of—"

"Of course not," Hermione replied comfortingly. "I just wanted to make sure…"

She chewed on her lip momentarily, trying to think of how best to broach the subject that she was dying to ask about.

"So… Have you heard from Draco lately?"

"This morning."

"Oh… well, that's nice," she replied lamely.

"Yes, it is," Ginny replied tartly. "Now, if you don't mind…"

"Why were you in the library today?" Hermione burst in, unable to continue living in suspense.

"How did I know?" the other girl said, rolling her eyes.

"Just humour me."

"If you really want to know, taking precautionary measures." Eyeing Hermione's blank stare, she continued, "Learning to fight."

"Fight? As in…"

"Fist fighting. As in doling out an ass-kicking to anyone who tries anything. Taking care of myself. Now good-night."

Ginny seemed to fall asleep almost instantaneously, but Hermione was another matter. She had never been very close to the redhead, but she could tell when Ginny was upset about something, and right now, she was more than upset. Hermione had been worried about Harry's well-being for a good portion over the fifth year, but during sixth year, loath as she was to admit it, she had managed to forget about him in dealing with her own life. She was beginning to regret that and knew that she would continue to do so, especially if he continued to have his attentions focused on Ginny. The girl was as tough as nails and, though it made her feel somewhat sick, Hermione was beginning to wonder whether or not Ginny was planning some sort of revenge. Because, by the sounds of things, it wouldn't be completely unjustified.

It was a thought that would keep her up most of the night.

* * *

Ginny eyed Lupin from her position opposite him. She had quickly gotten over her hesitation to hit him once he had sat her down after her first session an asked if she was really serious about learning this—if she wasn't, he understood and wouldn't force her into it. His expression had been so overly concerned that she had nearly punched him then and there.

Once that minor hurdle had been leapt over, she had progressed at a rate that seemed to surprise her instructor more than slightly. He himself, being no adept at martial arts, could barely keep up with her, despite his considerable advantage of one hundred pounds, and a good deal of time was wasted trying to decipher the meaning of the book which had been so generously donated. ("Thank goodness we weren't up against Madam Pince," Ginny had confided.)

"What if you're attacked from behind?" Lupin asked, straightening from his crouched position. "You have to consider the possibility of being down before you have a chance to react."

The name of Ginny's supposed attacker was never mentioned, but both of them knew who it would be.

"I don't know. We should try it."

Ginny followed him over to the table that was holding the open book, and they huddled over it for another half an hour, before straightening and walking through the instructions.

* * *

The rest of the summer passed uneventfully. Hermione and Severus spent long periods of time holed up in the library, and when they weren't, there were day trips to Diagon Alley where they would browse bookstores and eat ice cream. Despite the fact that her mother was staying at Grimmauld Place as well, Agrippa and Hermione rarely saw each other outside of meals—Agrippa's workaholic tendencies had, if possible, increased since Christmas.

But aside from the growing rift between her and her mother, this was the happiest Hermione had been for a long time. Sometime in the last month, eating had become less of a chore than before. Going to meals was no longer a conscious thought and the urge to skip them was increasingly rare—not that Mrs. Weasley would have let her. Food aside, Severus made her feel like she was important, like all of this mattered to someone other than her and her current worth wasn't the score of her last test or the effectiveness of a piece of advice she doled out. Not that Harry and Ron—or anyone else for that matter—had ever had the intention of giving her this particular impression, but sometimes it seemed that they did without meaning to.

Severus understood. It was that simple. People had mistreated him in his youth as well, although in his instance it had been slightly more deliberate, and he realized where she was coming from. He knew the right things to say, when to say them, and when to keep quiet and just listen. In turn, Hermione would unburden his load during his melancholy periods, and in this way, they fed one another's appetites and cleaned off what the other couldn't swallow.

Of course, there was plenty of laughing. For the most part, it was a summer of laughter. Random giggling, the amused looks of two people sharing a private joke from across the room when other people in the vicinity prevented them from any other reaction, and the kind that leaves you lying on the floor, breathless and gasping, yet still unable to stop. Sometimes the other didn't know what had warranted it, but they would join in anyway until their sides split.

It was also a summer of love, although neither of them was quite ready to put a name to their feelings. All either of them knew was that they had woven themselves into a safe cocoon that they weren't prepared to burst out of yet. The world was hovering just outside, waiting for their walls to disintegrate and both of them knew that time wasn't going to slow down for them, but they were going to hang on as long as they possibly could. Two more weeks of August didn't seem nearly long enough, but they were going to make them as full and perfect as possible.

Of course, fate had different plans.

* * *

Hermione rested her head on the back of the couch, sick with worry, staring out the window of the library at the setting sun and praying to any higher power that was listening. In the last month, both Hermione and Severus had been too preoccupied to remember the full moon. The reminder had been almost more unpleasant than the constant thought of it. She closed her eyes against the thoughts streaming into her mind as the sky continued to darken.

* * *

Upstairs, Ginny and Lupin were running through a cool-down, moving more slowly than usual, when his body convulsed. He stopped in the middle of a block, and Ginny stepped forward, wondering what was wrong. She inhaled sharply as she saw his body distort and reshape and away, at the moonlight streaming in the attic window from the full moon above.

"Run," he hissed with half-human jaws that were lengthening at an alarming rate.

She tried, only to find that her feet had taken root, wanted to scream, but her mouth was clenched shut. Her only act of defense was to shake her head slowly, as if refusing to believe what was before her, and squeeze her eyes shut, letting the blood pounding through her drown out his anguished noises. When she opened them, she wanted to be waking up from a dream, but instead she saw that the transformation was complete.

Her muscles regained their ability and she turned, fumbling at the door, trying to keep her movements slow and casual to deter the attack that she knew would come, glancing back to see the beast advancing on her slowly. Desperately, she clawed at the door, but her grasp was too sweaty. He was drawing nearer by the second—she could hear the clicking of toenails on the wooden floor and the low growl being emitted from between its gleaming teeth.

She couldn't help herself. She panicked and began pounding against the door, ramming her full weight against it and screaming for help. The door finally opened and she collapsed, tumbling down the flight of stairs as something knocked against her with a numbing force, earth-shattering force. The last thing she saw before passing out was the werewolf crawl to its feet and sprint down the hall to the rest of the house.

* * *

Shrieks and pounding upstairs shook Hermione from her half awake state, and she jumped to her feet, heart pounding as possibilities flooded her mind.

_It's Harry, _she thought with frightening certainty. _He's lost his mind. He finally cracked and went after her. It was that letter from Draco this morning that did it._

As she rounded the corner, hearing someone bellow, "Stupefy!" she was expecting to see her longtime friend crumpled on the ground. Instead the sight of a half asleep Tonks brandishing a wand at a frozen wolf-like creature greeted her. Hermione was dimly aware of other people arriving at various times, exclaiming the same thing over and over again.

"But he took the potion this morning! I was there."

"How on earth…?"

"What's going on?"

It was Harry that saw the trail of blood first. Hermione felt her head spin as she took stock of the people around her.

"Ginny," she whispered, then when no one heard her, she repeated, more loudly, "He got Ginny!"

A wash of silence overcame them and everyone turned to look at Molly Weasley, who had gone ashen. Her horror lasted only a moment, though. A second later, she was in control once again, directing her husband and various orders as she levitated her daughter into the master bedroom. Lupin was moved back to the attic by Tonks and Arthur, while Ron sent for Madam Pomfrey. She arrived within ten minutes and all that was left for the rest of them to do was wait for the worst.

They were assured about an hour and a half later that Ginny was in no immediate danger. The wound had not been as deep as it had first appeared and Madam Pomfrey had been able to heal it without difficulty. Her landing had given her a mild concussion, but that would take time and she was now sleeping. It would, however, be impossible to tell whether she had been infected by the bite—she had not yet transformed, but that meant nothing. Changing, Madam Pomfrey informed them, did not necessarily happen immediately after the bite. It did on occasion, but there was a sixty-seven percent chance that it would occur on the next full moon, and in extremely rare cases the effects didn't show up for years. In any case, Ginny would have to remain under observation for the time being.

The tests that the nurse went on to describe sounded remarkably like those used for muggle pregnancy to Hermione's ears, and she turned to whisper this to Severus, only to remember with a jolt that he wasn't there. The longer she sat, allowing that night's events to catch up with her, the sicker she felt, until her stomach began to roll. She began to wonder if the urge to vomit was indeed nerves, or something else; the "b" word that she could never use, even inside her head, without feeling a stab of fear. The sitting room was quickly becoming too small, as her breathing grew more and more irregular.

Severus returned at dawn, by which time Hermione had worked herself into such a state of panic that she was positive a heart attack wasn't far off. Seeing this and the slumped, barely awake faces of the rest of the house staring at the landing at the top of the stairs, he half-carried her to the kitchen, where he made her a cup of tea, and attempted to draw the story out of her.

Instead, what he got was the ramblings of a frightened, sleep-deprived, seventeen-year-old girl who had thought on the subject for far too long.

"There was screaming and I ran upstairs and he was there, stupefied and there was blood, but no one but me realized it was her who was missing and he got her and they took her and she came, but we still don't know if she's been infected by the bite or not and I wanted to but I didn't, I swear. I didn't let myself, but I wanted too…"

Hermione broke off into sobs, and despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that he was beyond exhausted from his own, not so different night, he held her and tried to stay calm.

"Who got who?"

"Lupin… He attacked Ginny," she replied, trying to control her tears. "He took the potion, but it didn't work…"

Severus closed his eyes and exhaled. "His body has adjusted to it. It's lost its effect over him. I've been wondering when it would happen. And what did you want to do?"

She began to shake. "I was going to be sick again, after we found them. I was afraid that it was coming back."

He shook his head tiredly. "Did you even consider that it might be because you saw the victim of a werewolf? You're allowed to feel sick you know. It happens to us all."

She sighed into his shoulder. "I'm sorry… Now I feel like an idiot."

He laughed softly. "That happens too."


	17. 16 Stupid

Disclaimer: The wonderful world of–can you guess?–Harry Potter belongs to a certain Ms Rowling whom I can only attempt to imitate. Charles Darwin belongs to... Charles Darwin? Oh, and I will not attempt to sully the genius of Sarah McLaughlin by taking credit for her lyrics.

A/N: My apologies for the geekiness of the Darwin references. This bit was originally written at a time when I had spent a disgusting amount of effort revising for Biology and I couldn't help myself, really. It just sort of... spewed out. Kept it in partly because it becomes important, but mostly because old men with beards and boats named after dogs amuse me.

_Everything changes_

_Everything falls apart_

_Can't stop to feel myself losing control_

_But deep in my senses I know_

_How stupid could I be?_

_A simpleton can see_

_That you're no good for me_

_But you're the only one I see_

--Sarah McLachlan, _Stupid_

Perfection

Chapter 16: Stupid

Ginny was leaning against the train window with her eyes closed, vaguely aware of the fact it was pulling out of the station, when Draco found her. He needed to tell her, now, before this went a step further.

"Did you get my messages?"

She nodded, not turning her head.

_She knows, _he thought. _Merlin, help me, somehow she knows._

Out loud, he said, "Is everything all right?" just in case.

She tried to nod, turning to face him, then paused and he could see her eyes were filling with tears.

_Just say it, _his mind screamed at him.

Trying to smile, she replied, "I don't know. That's the problem. If I did, then I'd be able to handle it, I think."

"Listen, Gin," murmured, sitting beside her and putting an arm around her shoulders. "It'll be all right, I promise."

"No." She shook her head emphatically. "I was bit. By Lupin. You know what that means."

His heart nearly stopped for a moment, but the revulsion she seemed to expect didn't come. "And?" he prompted.

"No one knows if… if I was infected. We won't know until I transform, and that could be in a few weeks, it could be a few years."

She was shaking against him, and he was helpless to stop it. Stroking her hair, he tried to comfort her, painfully aware how miserably he was failing. He couldn't tell her. Not now, when she was so upset. She _needed _him.

Finally, he asked the burning question. "How could this happen? I thought that there was a potion that could prevent this…"

She closed her eyes again, trying to stop the tears. "There is, and he drank it. It's useless for him now. His system's used to it."

They sat in silence for a moment as Draco tried to digest this. He didn't know what to say or do, but he wouldn't pull away. No matter what his instinct screamed at him, she was still Ginny first and foremost—not some creature. And he was still Draco Malfoy, first-class bastard and too bloody scared to let her know.

* * *

The Welcoming Feast was no different from usual, except this year Hermione found her attention divided between the silent red-head across from her and Severus, who seemed to be bored mindless.

"Eat something," she urged Ginny, considering the irony of the statement with a touch of bitterness.

The other girl only shook her head in refusal and left the table early, pleading a headache and leaving Hermione free to ogle. Finally, his gaze met hers and he signaled that they should leave, something she agreed to readily. Quidditch was the main conversation topic, and she really couldn't care less about it. They met outside by the entrance, and he smiled slightly as he fingered her gleaming Head Girl badge.

"Congratulations," he told her for about the twentieth time that day.

"Oh, shut up, you knew I'd get it," she replied with a laugh.

They pushed their way through the doors, hands joining almost unconsciously.

"Thank goodness for that," she added brightly. "One more year in a room with Parvati and Lavender and I think I would have jumped out of the window. I've missed having a room to myself."

She paused briefly, wondering if he would think she was implying something and glancing sideways to see his reaction. He appeared to have missed any innuendo, intentional or not, but it always was difficult to tell what he was thinking. She asked herself if she would mind, should he take it as an invitation, hoping there was no way for him to read her mind. The idea was a good deal better than unpleasant.

_And why not? _she speculated. It had almost happened once this summer, in Leipzig, and would have had it not been for the interruption. There had been a few other moments where they had started down that path, only to turn back when one of them regained their senses.

They paused when the reached the lake, looking over the dark, glossy surface in companionable silence.

"I'm going to miss working on the potion this year," she said finally.

He tilted his head to look at her. "It's not the only potion in the world, you know."

She sighed. "But to have reached my academic peak at the age of not quite seventeen is something of a let-down."

He laughed, a deep rumble that she felt as much as heard. "You have a long time before you can say that. We live much longer than muggles."

She didn't reply, only drew closer, the unspoken _unless _hanging between them.

* * *

Classes started up, and Ginny threw herself into her work with a never-before experienced fervor—anything to keep herself from dwelling on the unavoidable. Draco didn't abandon her, which was more than a slight relief, but the nasty voice in her head would sometimes whisper that if her fears turned out to be founded, he would be the first one to be running. During the day, when they were sitting together on the lawn this seemed unlikely, but her fears were difficult to curb late at night, when insomnia kicked in. Her nightmares, which had seemingly disappeared, were returning with increasing frequency and intensity, haunting her often several times in one night.

Harry, at least, was leaving her alone now. Maybe he was repulsed by the thought of her, maybe he had simply given up or was biding his time—she had no way of knowing. What energy she didn't focus on school, she poured into her own defense, preparing herself both mentally and physically for the attack that she wasn't even sure was coming. She would be ready.

* * *

"Happy birthday."

She clinked her glass against Severus's, glad that she had refused most of the alcohol offered to her in the Gryffindor common room before her escape because she would be more than slightly tipsy by now. She downed the contents in a split second, laughing at his expression.

"I'm not going to get drunk off of one glass of wine," she informed him. "And I'm seventeen now. As far as I know, it's legal. Pretty much anything is." She raised an eyebrow in suggestion, before adding, "Feel free to shag me."

"Are you sure you're all right to have that?" he asked, prying the glass from her hands.

"Of course I am," she insisted, tugging back.

"Because I don't want you to pass out before I give you your present."

She let go of the glass, smiling expectantly as he handed over a small, neatly wrapped package. She tore it open with impatience, reserving no respect for the paper, and gasped at the contents, not liking to think about the time and money it must have taken to get his hands on this.

"Thanks," she said, touched enough to overcome her half-drunken state. She reached across and hugged him, lingering there a moment to fully enjoy the scent of his aftershave.

When he didn't let go, she began nuzzling at his neck, nipping him on the throat and giggling when he jumped. He returned the favour, working his way up to her mouth and helping her out of her school uniform, until all she was left in was her skirt and a bra, which was removed without much further ado, though she was still wearing the vial containing the Golden Shield around her neck. It hadn't left that spot since their unexpected departure of Leipzig in July.

She was about to protest that he should take something off too, but he silenced her and drew back, running his hands down her ribcage deftly. Her skirt was halfway off when a knock on the door interrupted.

Severus swore under his breath, but before either of them could make a further reaction, it swung open, revealing Lucius Malfoy, who was tapping his cane impatiently.

"Severus, how nice," he greeted them. "I have some urgent business, if you don't mind."

Severus slid off of Hermione and she sat up, folding her arms across her chest protectively.

"Is your toy able to keep her mouth shut, or will she have to leave?" the elder Malfoy inquired.

"If she knows what's good for her," came the reply.

Hermione felt a remark on the tip of her tongue regarding the tackiness of pimp canes, but bit it back, feeling fear encompass her. She wasn't entirely sure that she liked being called a _toy_.

"I have to speak with my son. Where is he?"

"Have you looked in the Slytherin common room?"

"I'm not a complete imbecile, Severus. Of course I have."

"The library, then," Severus snapped impatiently. "Couldn't this wait for a letter?"

Lucius appraised the two on the couch. "You forget what tonight is, don't you? My business is not only with Draco. The Dark Lord wishes me to extend a more _personal _invitation to you this time around. I'm not sure that it extends to _her_, but generally the more mudbloods the merrier, isn't that right?"

Severus was backed into a corner, Hermione realized. She couldn't see any way for them both to get out of this alive.

"I suppose that we should track down your offspring then," he replied acidly. "Put something on," he barked at Hermione, confusing her momentarily. She hadn't heard that tone directed at her for months now.

As she yanked her clothing back on, it dawned on her that it was a part of his act, and he was hoping she would understand and play along. Head bowed, she followed the two men into the corridor, mind racing nearly as fast as her heart.

* * *

"Thanks for walking with me," Ginny said, giving Draco a quick hug.

"Do you want me to stay for a bit?"

She glanced warily at the infirmary door and shook her head. "There's not much time left. I can last the night fine."

"If anything happens, will you…"

"I'll let you know," she cut him off, suddenly cold.

Panic set in and she tried to keep her breathing steady by telling herself that he wasn't just hanging around to see what happened. Why would he bother?

_Calm, _she reminded herself. _Just remember to breathe._

She studied Draco's expression, making no motion to enter the infirmary, and watched it tense.

"Ah, Draco."

Ginny closed her eyes, not wanting to look at Lucius Malfoy.

"There has been a change in plan."

_What plan?_

"I still have a month!" Draco protested.

Ginny opened her eyes and stared at him, blinking back confusion.

"Not any more," the elder Malfoy informed him. "I see you've at least saved us the trouble of gathering the girl."

It couldn't be what she was thinking. He wouldn't. Not Draco.

She watched his expression transform from confusion to something cold and hard, something that made her shudder.

Draco grabbed her arm roughly and shoved her in the direction of his father, leaving Ginny staring up into gray eyes devoid of anything.

"Miss Weasley," he greeted her, tracing the outline of her face with a finger. "There is someone who is most anxious to speak with you."

She closed her eyes against the flashback, but it came to her anyway. The eyes staring her down now belonged to a boy her own age, sixteen yet without any trace of youth. His mouth curved upwards dangerously as he lowered it to her ear, whispering…

Cutting it off before she could become lost in the memory, she glanced past Malfoy to see Snape standing before Hermione, his face unyielding. For a moment, she felt comforted, but the way that the other girl looked at her made the feeling disappear. Both of them had been double-crossed. Or perhaps Hermione had been a part of it as well.

Ginny reassured herself with the knowledge that she, at least, would not abandon her principles. But as they marched her down the hall, her outlook became increasingly bleak.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure how, but one way or another managed to keep her face as hard and expressionless as any seasoned Death Eater's. Thankfully no one was paying any attention to her—their eyes were all trained on little Virginia Weasley, who was being led across the clearing of trees in the Forbidden Forest by Lucius and Draco Malfoy towards Voldemort.

Hermione, however, couldn't take her eyes off of the dark wizard. His appearance was more than slightly creepy and unnatural, granted, with the slanted red eyes and scaly skin, but it was the way he held himself that frightened her more, the utter cruelty that had written itself into lines on his face.

Each Malfoy grabbed an arm and forced Ginny to her knees, but before either could react, she had broken the grip on her arm and swung out a punch at Draco, knocking him back. Hermione felt compelled to do something, but instinct made her stand still as masked men collapsed onto the red head as the blonde boy recovered his balance.

Voldemort said a few words that Hermione couldn't hear and smiled—his humour was nearly as sickening as his perversity.

Ginny's expression was one of fury and defeat, as the Dark Lord drew near her, the look of one who knew that they had lost, but wasn't prepared to give up quite yet. And subtly, so that only someone watching the drama unfold as closely as Hermione was, would notice, that look turned to triumph.

* * *

_Breathe, _Ginny ordered herself. _He can't do anything to you that he hasn't done before…_

It was the end. She would loose. She accepted it. But she wasn't going to give up without giving them resistance. She still had her wand—for being the living, breathing definition of evil, Voldemort and his minions didn't seem all that bright—but she didn't want to use it until necessary. As soon as she attempted to, she would lose it. But if she could save it until the last possible moment, then she might still have a fighting chance…

There was something else there, something she was forgetting, a gut feeling that was trying to tell her something. She felt as though her mind was splitting in two. One part was focused on the here and now, sweating, afraid, while the other—the other was more than ready to attack, it was screaming for it. She couldn't stand here and just _take _what they threw at her; she had to give them a little back.

She realized where the second voice was coming from, and instantly felt herself grow afraid. She didn't want to fight two battles at the same time, didn't want to focus on remaining human…

_Don't fight it, _reason told her. _There's no point, not now. They won't be expecting _this, _of all things. Maybe then you'll make it out of here alive._

Ginny let down the barrier she had built in her mind, letting the part of her that was wolf spill into what was human and it let it take control.

The last thing she was aware of was Draco screaming, "_Avada kedavra!_" and a burst of green light.

* * *

All hell had broken loose. Severus glanced away from Hermione and at the chaos that had erupted upon the Weasley girl's transformation. He aimed some hexes at the nearby Death Eaters, but there was too much confusion for any real fighting to occur.

Hermione screamed his name—he looked in time to see her down a sip from her vial of potion and rip it off her neck before it came flying at him. He caught it in his left hand and had unstoppered it, when someone crashed headlong into him, causing him to tumble down. As if in slow motion he watched the vial fall, smashing on the ground. Before he could react, someone cast the killing curse on him, but it was smothered in a blast of golden light that illuminated the entire clearing.

For a moment he lay there, stunned, but before there was a chance to see whether or not luck would be on his side a second time, he was on his feet, Stunning as many people as he possibly could on his way over to Hermione.

He was vaguely aware of Ginny bounding away into the darkness of the forest, but she had stopped being the main priority. Draco was fighting his father inside a ring of figures, the Dark Lord among them, and to all appearances losing ground, while Hermione tried to prevent anyone from intervening.

Severus found himself impressed with her insight—she could finish off Lucius Malfoy now, but she realized that Draco wouldn't thank her for it and it would mean that their concentration would shift back to themselves.

Once he reached her, she shrieked, voice breaking, "Get Draco out of there! He'll listen to you!"

He nodded as they covered each other. This time, running was going to be the only way.

* * *

As another curse hit against his ever-weakening defense system, Draco asked himself how he had let things get this far out of hand. He could have told Ginny. He could have told her anytime between last Christmas and now, before it had come to this.

She would have despised him, but that didn't matter to him now. None of this would have happened.

His father might have disowned him, but by the looks of things right now, that might still happen—if he survived.

He was vaguely aware of someone grabbing hold of his neck, but before he could fight them off, he felt himself dissolve and a moment later he, along with whoever had grabbed him were standing outside the main doors of Hogwarts.

"I think it's safe to say," came the voice of Hermione Granger from behind him, "that we are royally screwed."

* * *

It was well into the night, when Hermione and Severus returned to his chambers. She had refused a trip to the infirmary staunchly, but her resolve wavered at the thought of spending the night alone in the head girl's room. Severus was clearly furious and not talking, but she knew it was directed at Draco, not her—not to mention that she was exhausted beyond caring.

When he slumped into his armchair, Hermione felt a wash of something—not pity, but close—wash over her. Perhaps it was exhaustion that made her do it—she would never be quite sure—but instead of sitting in another chair, she settled herself on his lap and began to caress his shoulders.

"Merlin," he moaned. "Don't do this to me now."

Rather than protest, she stopped, resting her head against him, feeling the way his breath was coming in ragged gulps.

Was that _her _doing?

It was right about then that Hermione completely quit caring about any social barriers that were still between them. She wanted, more than anything, to know that everything around her was real, that the thoughts flooding her mind weren't something her mind had created for comfort.

It began with her hand creeping up him and massaging his neck where she knew it was the tensest, then let her mind stop thinking as their mouths mashed into each other and they began tearing at one another, releasing something more animalistic than she had believed herself capable of.

Severus held back momentarily, but it was obvious that this confirmation of reality was what he needed too. Before they went over the edge, he cast a spell against pregnancy and led her into his bedroom, leaving behind a trail of clothing. This time, as she fell back onto his bed, sinking into the sheets and arching her back up into him as he followed, there were no interruptions from unwanted visitors.

When he rolled off of her, still breathing hard and sweating, she curled up against him, smiling to herself as she slipped an arm around him. He had become everything now—teacher, mentor, friend, and finally—lover. She then allowed her eyes to close and promptly fell asleep. They would need all of the rest they could get when recounting the night's events to Dumbledore.

* * *

Ginny stirred as the rays of sunlight hit her and opened her eyes, moving stiff joints gradually and trying to adjust to the strange feeling of her human limbs. The grass she was lying on was prickly and uncomfortable, not the soft bed of the night before, and her head was pounding nearly as bad as the time in fourth year when she and a few friends had managed to smuggle a bottle of Odgen's Firewhiskey out of Hogsmeade…

She tried to remember the events after her transformation, but it only came to her in a string of senses—Merlin, was that a bit of rabbit caught between her teeth?

A shudder ran through her as she examined the pink, fleshy remnants of what appeared to be last night's dinner and clutched at her stomach. It was then that she realized her clothing was gone, her wand with it.

Panic overtook revulsion as she pondered how she was going to make it back into Hogwarts stark naked, mixed with surprise at the realization that a part of her—the part that was wolf—didn't want to go back at all. It would mean never having to look at Draco again and remember how gullible—how utterly _stupid—_she had been. She should have known that it had nothing to do with her—he was a Malfoy and she was a Weasley and that was the end of that. But a tiny, traitorous voice was reminding her of the way he had looked at her when his father had shown up—a look of desperation and despair…

She shook her head and stood up. She would have to go back, Draco Malfoy or no Draco Malfoy. She couldn't survive off of a couple rabbits every full moon—she would have to go back and search for her clothes. Standing to leave, she realized that she didn't know the way back to the clearing, let alone where the school was. Only the wolf part of her knew where the hell she was, and that was useless, unless…

No one had ever properly explained what being a werewolf meant to her, assuming that she didn't want to think about the consequences until she had to. She knew that every full moon she had no choice in the transformation, but not whether she could transform whenever she wanted. The only other werewolf she knew was Lupin, and Ginny was certain that he had never _wanted _the transformation in his life.

Sincerely wishing that she had paid more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts and strongly suspecting that the chance was a slim one, she settled cross-legged back on the ground, squeezing her eyes shut tight and waiting.

* * *

Hermione snuggled closer to the warmth next to her, keeping her eyes closed and willing the night to never end. Severus's arm snaked around her, making her smile in her half-awake state, and she rolled over, struggling slightly with the tangled sheets, so that they were facing one another.

"Morning," he murmured in her ear.

"Morning," she replied, burying her nose in his chest and inhaling his scent.

"Any regrets?" he inquired after a pause.

She shook her head emphatically in a _no _and opened her eyes, grinning up at him and making him moan.

"Don't look at me like that…"

"Why?" she asked, blinking innocently and allowing her hand to trail down his side.

"Merlin help me, I've created a monster," he growled, pulling her in to him and claiming her mouth.

"Damn right," she replied once they broke up for air, only to continue more insistently as he rolled on top of her, shoving the blankets aside.

His weight on top of her was by no means bone crushing, but it still seemed to shove all of the air from her lungs. Or maybe it had nothing to do with mass at all. She stared up at him, keeping eye contact as long as she could stand it, but eventually closed her eyes, allowing her mind to slide away from her.

* * *

Ginny opened her eyes, tears of frustration gathering in the corners of them. What felt like hours had passed and she was no closer now to transformation now than she had been at the beginning. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring to life the memories of the wind as she bounded through the trees, the freedom that her strength lent her.

Something rustled in the underbrush, and she jerked, feeling the wolf rise up inside of her and give her the absurd urge to sniff the wind. Relief rushed through her as she tried to grasp the other part of her mind and use the physical aspect of it while keeping her mind human.

After several minutes of sniffing at the wind, she felt her senses grow more acute and her limbs shift and reform. Ears perking up, she curiously examined the area, taking in the details of the forest, nose and ears making up for her poor eyesight.

_Focus,_ human reminded wolf. _Where did we go?_

Smelling out the trail of the previous night, she wove between the trees in the direction she had come.

* * *

Dumbledore stared across the table at them, face more serious than Hermione had ever seen it. He didn't ask what they had been doing when Lucius Malfoy had interrupted them, which was a relief, but Hermione had a feeling that he already knew.

"And where is Miss Weasley now?"

Hermione and Severus exchanged guilty looks. Neither of them had considered tracking her last night—the focus had been entirely on making it out of the forest alive.

"I see," the headmaster speculated. "Well, thank you for coming to me and if you will excuse me, I will now write to Molly Weasley to inform her of the night's events. Severus, if you will be so kind as to bring the young Mr. Malfoy to my office, I would like to speak with him." He shook his head sadly and paused for a beat before continuing. "These are troubling times and I am sorry that you should be living in them. We must take what happiness from them that we can."

Hermione jerked her head up, looking surprised as she shot a sideways glance at Severus. He nodded at her with a faint twitching of his lips. In his roundabout way, it seemed that Dumbledore had just given them his approval.

Mutely, the two exited his quarters and walked side by side down the corridors, to much speculation of the early rising student body, until they neared the Slytherin Common Room.

"Meet me in the dungeons," he muttered to her through the side of his mouth. "I believe we have some investigating that is long overdue."

She nodded and left him to deal with Draco, jogging down flights of stairs with an odd mixture of elation and panic filling her.

* * *

The process was a slow and tedious one. Ginny continuously had to battle her wolf instincts, causing her to lose her tentative grip on the shape and start over again from scratch. As time wore on, however, it became easier for her to make the change and when she finally reached the clearing, was barely recognizable in the daylight, she felt as though she had been forced through a blender—or hit with a few rounds of Cruciatus at best.

Luckily for her, her clothing and wand had been left forgotten on the forest floor, half buried in dead leaves. There were signs of a scuffle—more than a _slight _scuffle—leaving Ginny to wonder what had gone on after her… departure.

Making a mental note to ask about it, she yanked on her more than tattered robes and snatched up her wand, enspelling it to point her in the right direction.

* * *

Agrippa stirred some sugar into her coffee, grateful that she had had the foresight to work today, even though a day off was long overdue. The tension in the house was more than palpable and the thought of spending more time in it than necessary was not entirely pleasant. Everyone seemed to be waiting for news, but unwilling to say anything about it.

When an owl finally flew in, dropping a letter on the table, Mrs. Weasley—or Molly, as she insisted on being called—snatched it up so quickly that it almost didn't land. The rest of the table froze as the letter was torn open and read frantically. The redheaded woman let out one brief sob before composing herself.

"Well?" her husband inquired, resting a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

"It's happened. She transformed."

The effect of this pronouncement on the others at the table was more than visible—Mr. Weasley dropped his cup, several of the people who came and went tried to look comforting, and the one other constant, Remus Lupin, gave a quick apology and left the table. She couldn't help but notice his stiff limp and weakness as he did so.

She had some idea what was going on, but not much. Lupin was a werewolf, she had finally been told that night when the little Weasley girl was attacked. It was then carefully explained that he was only dangerous once a month—she would do well to remember that. But the amount that she didn't know about this world was alarming. Even though she didn't have to learn the actual magic, learning _about _it was complicated enough, especially with all the wizard slang they took for granted that she would know.

Occasionally, she would wonder whether her home was safe yet, but they would always shake there heads at that and tell her that in times like these, nowhere was safe. She didn't understand what they meant by this—there were mentions of some man who was never named and attacks on people and places that she had never heard of. She didn't want to ask and appear ignorant and they seemed to assume that she _did _know, so her only information came from snippets of conversations and a hell of a lot of guesswork. She _hated _that, more than she had hated anything in her life—even Steve.

With a grim smile, she downed the rest of her coffee and went upstairs to get ready for work.

* * *

Remus leaned against the attic wall, chest heaving as he dried to drown the panic. Not his fault, they told him, over and over. _Not his fault._ When he knew the truth—it bloody well was. And now Ginny, who had come to him asking for help—help, dammit, not _this_—had transformed.

How in hell was that not his fault?

He sighed, tired of going in hopeless circles around himself. It wasn't his fault. Not entirely. He had to believe that. But the blame did rest on a part of him—the wolf was a part of him, whether he liked it or not.

That thought filled him with a deep self-loathing, the urge to cut that half out of him—but it didn't work, Merlin knew that he had tried.

Well, as long as he was in the mood for angst, he thought bitterly, why not think about Sirius. Sirius, who was dead. Sirius, who he had spent the whole seven years at Hogwarts admiring and following, while the rest of the male population of the school had been doing the same to Lily Evans—with the possible exception of one or two Slytherins.

Of course, Sirius had not known then—he had never really known the extent of it. Even after the Order had taken up residence at 12 Grimmauld Place and they're… whatever it had been—romance wasn't quite the word—had begun, Remus had been careful that he didn't know the depth of his feelings.

He recalled lying awake, Sirius's arm draped over his side, the scent of sweat wafting into his nose as he wondered, night after night, if the other man viewed him only as an escape. But there were other memories too. That one night when Sirius had lost his temper, two years ago now, and one thing led to another until they were in bed. That had been Remus's first real intimate experience with anyone, the first time there had been anything for him beyond the physical—he had learned quite quickly that what girls were after wasn't him, it was the wolf and the best thing to do was to satisfy their curiosity and send them on their way. After that, they had been together almost every night and on the nights when he transformed, Sirius would change into his other form and they would… Well, needless to say, it was the only time he had ever enjoyed being like _that_.

A few nights before his death, Sirius had snaked an arm around him and whispered I love you. Remus had pretended to be asleep because he didn't want to answer, because a part of him couldn't bring himself to believe it. In spite of the part that had wanted to.

Merlin. Remus rubbed his face with his palms, heaving a loud sigh. How had he gotten on this track? He should be concerned about Ginny, not whether or not a dead man had loved him. _Ginny_, dammit.

And then his mind returned to where it had begun.

* * *

They worked in uncomfortable silence, copying down possible variables to be tested and details to be further researched. Severus felt unsure—was her lack of comment due to disappointment, did she want him to say something first, or was she only concentrating? The question was almost enough to make him bite his nails.

But then she glanced up for a second, sending a little grin his way and he felt his stomach soar momentarily. Until it faded and she went back to work.

_Concentrate_, he ordered himself. _She's focusing fine—_you're_ the one who's acting like a hormonal teenager._

Wasn't that a thought at the age of thirty-nine?

* * *

Agrippa drummed her fingers absently on the elevator wall, flicking her gaze every so often over to the man who was guarding her. She finally understood what was going on and it made her sick to her stomach.

They had taken her aside shortly after breakfast that morning and detailed it to her carefully—shocked, at first, that she didn't know. They explained that because of her daughter, she might soon become a target and, unless she planned on quitting work entirely, some precautions would be necessary. Like this one.

As she stepped onto her floor, he followed behind closely—she could sense his presence—but not _too _closely, so that unless it was known that he was following her, no one would be able to tell.

* * *

"So I'm really quite useless, aren't I?" Draco drawled with his trademark sneer, although this time it was directed more at himself. "Neither side wants me—I've already betrayed them both."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm not here to judge. I only wanted to impress upon you the serious nature of your actions."

The twinkle was gone and he looked so old, so very old. Draco felt sick to his stomach, but forced himself to continue meeting the piercing blue gaze.

"You think that I don't already know?" He laughed bitterly at this. Someone contact the press—the man wasn't omniscient after all.

Dumbledore smiled tiredly at this, but it was without humour. "The other thing," he began in a voice that demanded no interruptions, "is that Miss Weasley has gone missing. She did not return last night, nor has she been seen since."

His heart constricted, but he didn't let the older man see that.

"The possibility exists, of course, that she is merely lost but under the present circumstances, that hardly seems likely. Most of the staff members are, of course, out looking—"

Mid-sentence, Flitwick burst into the office dragging with him a furious-looking Ginny, who took one look at the blonde boy sitting in the office before glancing away haughtily. Draco knew better than to open his mouth.

"Miss Weasley," Dumbledore greeted her, with no trace of his former displeasure.

Her mouth twitched unpleasantly in reply. There was an awkward silence that lasted a few minutes before it was broken.

"You are dismissed, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco stood to go, not missing the venom being directed at him from Ginny's gaze as he did so.

* * *

She finally found Hermione hunched over piles of books from the restricted section, copying down notes in her meticulous hand. Ginny might have known that she would be in the library.

"Hey," she greeted the back of the bushy head.

Hermione grunted in response, continuing on with her work until she realized who it was.

"Ginny!" she exclaimed, spinning around, relief scrawled across her features. "I was so worried!"

"Listen," Ginny said, sitting down opposite her, "I want you to tell me everything you know about werewolves."

Luckily, Hermione didn't argue. As she reeled off information that sounded like it was being quoted straight out of a textbook, Ginny felt her stomach drop out. It didn't sound like what had happened to her at all. If Hermione was right, werewolves could _only _transform on the full moon and never at will, which meant that something wasn't quite right…

_Shit_.

"I'd offer to look into it a bit more, but I have to research something for Sev—Professor Snape."

Ginny didn't miss the slip-up, but she held her tongue. "No, that's all right," she replied, a little _too _quickly. "Thanks, it helped."

"Is everything all right?" Hermione asked, studying the redhead in concern.

"As right as it can be, I guess."

"Well, if you need help with anything, you know who to ask."

Hermione was already going back to her own world at that last comment and, not wanting to overstay her welcome, Ginny left, her head spinning.

What the hell was going on?

* * *

The next weekend, Ginny entered the hospital wing for what felt like the hundredth time that week. She was sick of blood tests. Her arm hurt like hell where Madam Pomfrey had jabbed the needle repeatedly and the thought of more made her want to hit something. Hard. Surprisingly, though, the bruises had been fading within almost hours after, making her wonder whether it was more due to the nurse's skill or the wolf.

This time, however, it was not only Madam Pomfrey waiting for her. After her initial shock, she could only thank Merlin that it wasn't more blood tests.

"Professor Lupin," she greeted him politely, sending an inquiring look at the nurse.

"Miss Weasley."

There was a moment of awkwardness where she stared him down, waiting for him to explain. She sincerely doubted that he would have come on his own—he was more likely to assume that she would never want anything to do with him again.

"Dumbledore thought that you might… need someone to talk to," he told her finally, breaking the silence.

Dumbledore. That explained a lot. She forced a smile and nodded her head encouragingly.

"I'm glad," she replied, meaning it—there weren't many other people that she could ask advice from.

Madam Pomfrey led them to her workroom mutely, where she held the door open and ushered them in.

"You can just leave when you're finished," she informed them as it clicked shut.

"So…" Ginny began after a moment, hoping that he would fill in the blanks.

"I didn't have a chance to apologize before you left—"

_Like hell you didn't_, she thought wryly. _You were avoiding me._

"—but I want you to know that I truly am sorry for—for what happened."

"I know," she told him, with a bit of a rueful smile. "But what's done is done, I suppose."

They lapsed back into a painful silence—Ginny fidgeted, looking anywhere but at Lupin's face as she did so. Finally, he cleared his throat and tried to pick up the thread of conversation.

"So, how was the—er, the transformation?"

She shrugged, not wanting to tell him that a part of her had _liked _it—a part of her that she was trying very hard to ignore. "It didn't hurt or anything—I was sore the next few days though. And I kept finding bits of rabbit in my teeth."

The last part was meant as a joke, but instead of joining her in a short bark of laughter, he snapped to attention.

"_Rabbit?_"

"Yeah, why? Is there something wrong with the rabbits here?"

He shook his head slowly. "As far as I know the only prey for us is, well, humans."

She bit her lip. Yet another thing that had seemingly gone wrong. _Damn._

He studied her without speaking for a moment, before asking, "Is there anything else strange that happened?"

Lying crossed her mind. Shaking her head seemed so appealing just then. If there was anything else abnormal about her, it would be better off not to know. Wouldn't it?

"Well," she began carefully. "There was something—but maybe I was just confused. I don't know. I didn't want to tell anyone, not even Madam Pomfrey, just in case I imagined things…"

He nodded encouragingly as she swallowed.

"See, the morning after—the morning after I first transformed, I woke up in the middle of the forest and I didn't know where I was and somehow—I don't know how, maybe I just wanted it badly enough—somehow, I changed again so that I could navigate. At first I thought that maybe I only _had _to change on the full moon, but if I wanted to, I could transform whenever I wanted. But I looked it up after—well, asked Hermione," she grinned sheepishly, "and she said that wasn't the case. I thought maybe you would…"

She faltered, seeing his bewildered expression.

"Have…" he tried, voice faltering. "Have you tried since then?"

Ginny studied her nails, suddenly afraid of his reaction, and nodded, feeling the heat rise up into her face. "I locked myself in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom so that I couldn't get at anyone and they couldn't get in. It's hard and I almost fainted after, but I did it."

He flinched visibly. "I don't know what caused it. Do you think you could do it right now, if I asked you?"

"Maybe, but what about---"

"I won't let you escape this room if you do. And don't worry about me. You can't do anything that's not already done."

She didn't miss the shadow that passed across his face, or the bitterness.

"I need to sit down," she told him. "It takes a while."

Lupin nodded grimly as she seated herself cross-legged on the floor and he settled himself into an armchair. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on moving inward, past layers of human thoughts and feelings, searching for the barrier in her mind that separated human from wolf.

* * *

"_Stupefy!"_

The gold light exploded, blinding him temporarily. As he blinked away light spots, Hermione's voice reached him.

"It's still holding. I doubt it will last forever though. Do you think it only lasts a certain time period, number of spells, or a combination of the two?"

He raised his wand again, aiming it in her direction. "There's only one way to find out."

She sighed audibly. "I really wish there was a better way to test this."

"So do I. _Stupefy!_"

Again the flash of light, but nothing else. After several more attempts, he lowered his wand again.

"All this is doing is wasting time," he sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "What we really need to test is its ability to repel the killing curse, and quite frankly that's a risk that I would rather not take."

Hermione nodded, leaning against their workbench and grimacing. "I'm all for animal rights, but if worse comes to worst, we _could _test on some nice fluffy rabbits or something—horrible as it is."

"Even if we did come to that, it wouldn't work," he reminded her. "In muggle science, the relationship might be close enough but definitely not with something as delicate as this."

She shook her head slowly. "As useful as this potion may turn out to be, I'm starting to regret the day I set my heart on being the fourth person to ever brew it…"

Severus laughed, albeit somewhat bitterly. "Don't I know it… Come, we've been at this long enough. I think a lunch break is in order."

He didn't miss the look of reluctance that crossed her face as she stood up and followed him to the door, but put it down to a disinclination to put on hold their research rather than the other, far less desirable alternative.

* * *

Remus felt a chill run through him as he watched the girl's features ripple into those of a wolf and back again. He had never watched a transformation, only been a part of it, and it filled him with a sick sense of fascination that made him shudder.

Ginny frowned in concentration and regained her grasp on the shape, this time shifting entirely. A sudden, irrational jolt of fear filled him as she rose off of her haunches and approached, sniffing the air curiously.

_She can't do anything, not a damn thing, _he reminded himself, sweating heavily.

Wolf eyes that were bright with an alien intelligence met human ones and reluctantly, almost, her tail began to wag.

The smells were the first sign that she had completed the transformation. Aromas far too tantalizing for her human nose to pick up filled the wolf with an overpowering curiosity to explore. As she stood, she sniffed at the man watching her and caught the scent of sweat. _Fear._

She approached him cautiously, sorting through the smells until she knew which ones were his, and he flinched away. It was so faint that she only detected it because of the rustle of clothing that ensued.

_Friend, _the girl said. _He won't hurt us._

The wolf studied him more closely, wondering why he didn't run in spite of the fear so strong that it was almost tangible.

_Look at him. Show him that we recognize him and won't hurt _him.

The wolf raised her head slowly and their eyes met. She sensed no aggression—he realised her dominance here. Inching forward so that her head rested on his lap, she wagged her tail to show that she accepted him.

_Friend._

"Ginny?" he tried. "Can you hear me?"

_Nod, _the girl suggested. _Like this. _

She cocked her head in question.

_It means you understand._

The motion was awkward and foreign, but the wolf did her best.

"Can you change back?"

Again, a nod as the wolf let the girl take control once again and faded into the background to observe.

* * *

_Why did I go into dentistry?_ Agrippa asked herself, collapsing on the sofa and propping her feet up on the coffee table. _I could've done anything—I could've been a lawyer, dammit, and never had to deal with bratty kids who don't realise that if they brush their teeth I won't _have _to give them a filling, but no, I had to be a dentist…_

She moaned audibly—attracting the attention of the woman who had guarded her all day, but not really caring—and pressed her hand to her forehead.

"Rough day?" the auror asked and Agrippa nodded. "You and Remus should chat sometime—maybe you can put things in perspective for him."

Agrippa forced a smile as the other woman laughed and wandered into the kitchen. Forget the bratty kids—she hated Floo powder even more.

* * *

Hermione smiled to herself and rolled over so that her head was resting in the hollow of Severus's chest—she really could get used to this.

"So much for a quick break," she commented wryly and was rewarded by his bark of laughter.

"We wouldn't have achieved much, at any rate," he said by way of reply. "Particularly not at the rate we were going."

"True." She buried her face in his chest and inhaled. "Not to mention that I do rather like the alternative."

His fingers began tracing designs on her side and she felt a delicious shiver run through her. "Then by all means," he whispered in her ear, "we shall indulge."

* * *

"What do you think?" Ginny asked, her bewildered expression bearing no resemblance to the wolf she had been only minutes ago.

Lupin shook his head and she felt a stab of fear, wondering if she were some sort of freak of nature or something was terribly wrong.

"I don't know what to think," he replied carefully, "but I do have a few ideas."

Her eyes widened. Anything, any crazy thing that he could come up with would be better than being completely in the dark.

"You displayed the traits of an animagus more than those of a werewolf," he began, "but you say that on the full moon, you had no choice in the transformation."

He glanced at her for confirmation and she nodded quickly.

"My thought is that perhaps your shape that you would shift into naturally is a wolf and this and the werewolf genes blended together to create a combination of the two. You have more control over your mind when transformed and though you have to change when nor—_most_ werewolves do, you have a choice the rest of the time."

She nodded again to show that she understood what he was saying. "Anything else?"

"There is one other explanation that I can think of, but it's slightly less likely…"

"And it would be…" she prompted.

"Have you ever heard of the muggle biologist Charles Darwin?"

"No." Ginny shook her head, wondering how the two were related.

"I'm sure your brother Charlie could give you a more accurate description of it, but it basically states that all life evolved from a common ancestor and variation within a species led to the formation of a new species. Do you follow?"

"Not really, but keep going. I can look it up."

"Random mutation of genetic material would occur and if the mutations proved favourable, the animal or plant or whatever it was would survive to pass the traits on, eventually creating a new species. At any rate, that isn't the important part…"

"So what you're suggesting is that I'm the beginning of a new species of werewolf?"

He shrugged. "Possibly. Maybe it's a combination of the two, maybe it's neither one."

"Is there any way to find out?"

"Not really."

* * *

Hours later, Severus found himself still awake, despite the late hour, with Hermione sleeping peacefully beside him. After taking care of other matters, they had returned to trying various experimenting with the potion, but to no avail and, both frustrated by the failure of reason, they had retired—once again—to his quarters.

Even with his irritation, he might have still found sleep if a solution to the problem hadn't suddenly popped into his head. A solution that—if possible—was more daunting than the problem itself. He groaned, knowing that there would be no way to avoid it, and rolled out of bed, wrapping a dressing gown around himself as he made his way into the next room. As he dug through his desk, searching for writing materials, he became aware of a tapping at his window. Rolling his eyes, he opened it and allowed the barn owl to swoop in, drop a neatly rolled letter at his feet and fly away again.

_How does she do it? _he wondered, stooping to pick it up and unrolling it.


	18. 17 Family Ties

Disclaimer: Don't own HP & Co., I'm just borrowing them for fleeting entertainment purposes...

Perfection

Chapter 17: Family Ties

Hermione rolled over, half awake, searching for the warmth that she had grown accustomed to. It wasn't there. Puzzled, but not alarmed—yet—she wrapped a blanket around herself and shuffled blearily into the sitting room.

"Morning," she yawned when she noticed his rigid form sitting at the writing desk.

"We have four hours and twenty-seven minutes to come up with a plausible explanation as to why the smell of your perfume is lingering in my bedroom and your shampoo is in my bathtub," he informed her without looking up.

"What happened?" she asked, blinking rapidly to help herself wake up.

"My mother has developed a sudden curiosity regarding you," came the short reply. "She claims to have met you in Leipzig."

Hermione shook her head bemusedly, settling onto his lap. "I had no idea your mother was _alive, _let alone in Leipzig when we were."

Severus leaned his head back so he was looking at the ceiling and moaned. "Oh yes, Mother is very much alive."

Hermione couldn't help but notice that he sounded less than happy about that.

–––

Ginny was in the library, as she had been all of yesterday afternoon and evening after Lupin's visit, useless as the exercise was turning out to be. As far as she could tell, she had already gone through all of the werewolf texts and there wasn't a damn thing anywhere on Darwin, which was the main reason she was here in the first place.

The closest she had come to striking gold had been a brief article about the _loup-garou_, but as she continued to the end, she found the differences to be greater than the similarities—although it was more a regular wolf than the traditional werewolf, it could shift whenever it wanted, but if it did so in daylight then the change would be permanent. And, according to legend, the phenomenon was caused by not attending church for seven years, which was definitely not what had happened—she had the scars to prove it. Her other near-find had been a tribe in the far north of Asia, all of whose members' animagus forms were wolves, but that wasn't quite right either.

So, head pounding and vision blurring, she plugged on through book after book, finding nothing.

–––

"Granger… _Granger!"_

Hermione spun around, locking her gaze with his steely grey one.

"Malfoy, I really don't have time for this right now," she barked, beginning to stalk away. He jogged to keep up.

"Look, I don't want to act like the prick we both know I am, but it's important."

With a huff, she slowed down slightly. "Make it quick."

"I was wondering—could you talk to Ginny? Make sure she's okay? Please?" He tried—and failed miserably—not to sound too much like a pleading puppy.

"Can't you? Your tongue seems to be working fine."

He grinned wistfully. "I tried. She sent a chair flying at me."

Hermione stopped so that she could look at him directly. "Well, what did you expect—a warm welcome?"

"Not really. I'm not asking you to make my apologies for me, Granger. I just want to know if she's doing all right."

She shrugged, caving in slightly. "I'll talk to her, but no comments on your behalf. I really think that she should cut you into pieces and feed you to the wolves, personally, but I'll talk to her. Not now, mind. But when I have a chance, I promise I will."

He had a sudden and embarrassing urge to hug her, but squelched it quickly and thanked her before heading off down the corridor.

–––

Hermione knocked nervously on the door to Severus's rooms, barely resisting this new need to chew her nails down to stubs. As she smoothed down her skirt—she always felt more at ease in muggle clothes—the door swung open and she smiled tentatively at Severus.

"Miss Granger."

Hard to imagine this distant, cold voice as the one that whispered in her ear in the middle of the night.

"Professor Snape," she answered with a touch of irony, but just as formal.

Before he turned to lead her to the table where tea things were already laid out neatly, though, he sent her a reassuring wink and she had to stifle a giggle. The woman already sitting at the table turned to appraise her and Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the ancient face.

"You _were _in Leipzig," Hermione blurted out, unable to stop herself and trying desperately to recall the woman's words.

"I was," came the reply, again in that implacable accent.

_Magic can only be found if it _wants _to be found. Of course._

"I am Helena Snape. And you are Hermione Granger."

A hand was held out for her to shake and she took it, searching for something to say.

"Pleased to meet you," was the stroke of brilliance that came out of her mouth.

"As am I."

Hermione stole a glance at Severus, not missing the tense lines etched on his face.

"No offense," Hermione began carefully, hoping her question wouldn't break the thread of civility that was barely present between mother and son, "but aren't you a little old to be Sev—Professor Snape's mother?"

She laughed, albeit somewhat forced. "I like your bluntness, girl. Things are not necessarily what they appear to be, and sometimes sacrifices must be made for knowledge."

Hermione nodded, pretending to understand while filing the comment away to ask Severus about later. Being addressed as _girl _was about as high on her list of endearments as _toy_, but she didn't mention that either.

"My son tells me that you are possibly one of the most talented students to grace Hogwarts," Helena said, just as frankly—as if to shift the attention from herself to Hermione, who cocked her head in question at Severus.

"Minerva said it," he told her defensively.

She raised an eyebrow.

"I just happen to agree," he added quickly.

She smiled sweetly and added some sugar to her tea, not oblivious to the curious gaze that was watching their exchange. Silence followed as the three people sipped their drinks until Helena broke it.

"I tried to visit you in Germany, once I found out where the two of you were staying." Her voice was slightly accusing as she met her son's blank stare. "But by the time I was there, you had already left."

Severus's mouth tightened. "Then it was you testing the wards? Merlin, Mother, haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"I don't appreciate your tone and yes it _was_ me. Who did you expect—your _Dark Lord _himself?"

"Don't start," he warned, eyes flashing.

"The wards were rather good, though, I must say," Helena continued on, seemingly oblivious. "Certainly far stronger than I had expected. But I did find something, which I believe is Miss Granger's. Unfortunately it's back at my room in Hogsmeade." She directed a quick smile at Hermione.

"On the topic of Germany—Miss Granger and I had some questions regarding the Golden Shield." Hermione didn't miss his slightly worried tone as he changed topics. "We were wondering if you had any idea as to how its full properties can be determined."

Helena laughed, albeit humourlessly. "I thought you might have difficulties with that. You never have been able to grasp the concept that not all things can be precisely measured."

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, staring at the woman in confusion.

"There is no way to test the potion. Its powers are infinite and completely restricted at once. The existence of the Golden Shield is a paradox, which is why the brewing of it has been so rare."

Hermione heard Severus make a huffing sound beside her. "I thought as much."

"So either it works or it doesn't?" Hermione asked, still trying to clarify. "There's no way to be sure or even make a prediction?"

Helena smiled. "Oh, I can make a prediction. I predict that the potion will last precisely as long as you need it to, no more and no less."

_That helped, _Hermione wanted to reply sarcastically, but caught Severus's warning gaze and contented herself with saying it in her head.

Turning to Severus, looking accusing she said, "I would have expected you, at least to have realised this. After everything I taught you about chaos and order?"

"Merlin's balls, Mother, this is hardly the time to bring that up again."

"We touched on it briefly in Arithmancy last year," Hermione interjected, sensing an argument about to erupt, "but it's just a theory."

"You and my fool of a son, along with a vast number of other people in this world lean towards order. It's only natural—people, as a rule, resist change and therefore the chaos that is born of it. Unfortunately, life tends to fall on the chaotic side of things, as does this potion. Neither can be predicted, except in extremely shady, vague ways."

Trelawney sprang briefly to mind.

"Do you ever stop?" Severus hissed furiously.

"This is the way things are. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be."

"I'm fine the way I am."

"Are you?" Helena challenged and Hermione felt herself cringe. Of all the things to say to him… "Is that the reason why you have that gods-cursed mark on your arm—"

Severus rose, eyes glittering angrily as Helena turned to Hermione, a strange look of venom in her eyes.

"Oh, yes, did you know about that, girl?"

Hermione counted to five before replying coldly, "I did," barely keeping a reign on her temper.

"The only reason it's there is because of _you_," he snapped to his mother.

"Don't you dare accuse _me_. Don't even thing of it for a moment. I'm the one that freed you! I saved—"

"Would you both shut _up_?" Hermione shrieked, breaking into their verbal battle suddenly and startling them both into silence.

"I think," Helena stated carefully, "that I have overstayed my welcome."

"I would tend to agree," her son said icily.

Bidding them both farewell—the one directed at Hermione being remarkably more civil—she stood to go and a moment later had disappeared through the door as Hermione studied Severus reproachfully.

"You didn't have to do that. We both know she was baiting you."

"What?" he asked, temper flaring. "Don't tell me you're taking her side."

"I'm not, just…" She balked slightly at his furious gaze.

"Just what?"

"You didn't have to start on her… eccentricities."

Severus laughed harshly. "Trust me; they're a bit more than eccentricities."

"Then explain it to me."

He shook his head, anger fading. "Not today. Some other time when I'm more up to dwelling on it."

Knowing that however much she pleaded, she would get no answer from him, she let the subject drop and sat back down at the table. "Well, at least we know that testing the potion is a waste of time."

He sighed, nodding. "I just wish that there was a way…"

She patted his hand reassuringly and motioned that he should sit as well. "Sometimes we just have to let things go."

Hermione found herself wondering whether the Shield was the only thing that she referred to.

–––

Sick of tossing and turning restlessly, Agrippa sat up and turned on the light to help her think, even though it was something that she wasn't having a particular difficulty with just then. No matter how many times her thoughts twisted around, they always came to rest in the same place.

She wasn't sure what had suddenly reminded her of Steve. Maybe it had been a young couple that had brought in their five-year-old son for an appointment that morning or the sudden and unexpected midlife crisis that urged her to quit her job and return to university—where she had met the bastard in the first place—to study something like philosophy or moths or God knew what else. But whatever it had been, he was present in her mind in a way that he hadn't been for months and the old anger and hurt was rejuvenated, making sleep impossible. With a sigh, she crawled out of the bed and left the guest room with the vague idea of finding something to eat.

Downstairs, the surprising silhouette of a man greeted her—she recognized him as the werewolf, Lupin—and as she grew closer, she found that he was staring at an unopened bottle of some type of liquor.

"Are you planning on drinking that, or just reading the label?" she asked, making him jump.

He shrugged morosely. "Why, you want some?"

Sitting down across from him, she replied, "If there's any to spare."

A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I think that's the one thing we don't have to worry about."

He stood and rummaged through the cupboards until he found what he was looking for—two shot glasses. Filling them up, he passed one to Agrippa and without hesitation they both tossed them back.

Agrippa choked as the stuff burned her throat and gasped, "What _is _this?"

The corners of Lupin's mouth twitched again. "Firewhisky. I'm Remus, by the way."

"Agrippa."

"Think you're up to a second?"

She nodded bravely, handing him the glass.

Half a bottle later, they were both drunk enough to lower the initial caution that had been raised upon their meeting and Agrippa began to talk openly. Steve was the main subject—still fresh in her mind—and she hiccoughed her way through the story of how they met while Lupin or Remus or whatever he wanted her to call him continued to pour the drinks. Several giggling toasts were made in her ex-husband's honour that he might meet with some sort of unfortunate accident—the morbid nature of the disaster mostly courtesy of Remus.

Agrippa hadn't had this much to drink since her early twenties and the decreasingly logical part of her brain knew that she would have one hell of a hangover the next morning, but somehow that didn't matter.

"Your turn," she slurred finally, downing another shot.

"For what?"

"To tell me something."

"I'm gay," he said in the slurring bluntness created by the drink. "Possibly bisexual. I was in love with my best friend—or maybe it was lust, I don't know."

Agrippa was intrigued. "And…?"

"He's dead now. Had a few good fucks, but I don't know if he was just playing with me." Remus shrugged. "Probably was. Azkaban left him with more than a few issues."

"Azkaban?"

"Wizard prison. Hell's preferable, to all accounts. He was in there for something he didn't do."

Even in her drunken state, Agrippa could tell that the subject was a painful one that he rarely—if ever—breached. Pouring him another glass with a less than steady hand, she replied wryly, "You belong on Oprah."

He squinted, looking confused.

"I'll explain it when we're both sober. If I remember." She giggled. "Drink up."

–––

"Ginny, I need to talk to you after breakfast."

The sound of Hermione's voice both startled and relieved her. If anyone could help Ginny, it would be her. The redhead sped up the consumption of her scrambled eggs and sat on the edge of her seat, bouncing impatiently as Hermione picked at her food and fiddled with a letter that had just arrived but remained unopened.

"Who's that from?" Ginny asked, reminding herself of an overexcited three-year-old.

Hermione shrugged. "Just an… acquaintance."

She eventually gave up on her meal and stood, taking Ginny with her. Once they were out of earshot of the Great Hall, she asked, "Is everything all right? With, you know, everything."

Ginny was about to give her well-practiced lie, but the idea that Hermione might be able to at least point her in the right direction stopped her.

"No, actually it's not…" She gave the whole story from beginning to end, omitting nothing, not even the rabbit and although Hermione's eyes never left her, Ginny could practically see her thinking. When she finished, Hermione remained silent, obviously weighing possibilities.

Slowly, she began to speak. "I like the mutation theory—you say Lupin came up with it?"

Ginny nodded in affirmation.

"And the animagus one is also possible… but did either of you think of the Wolfsbane potion? If he's immune to it now, perhaps he passed the resistance on, only with unexpected results—I don't know. I'll do some looking around, see if I can come up with anything. Thanks for telling me."

The other girl shrugged. "I had to tell _someone_."

"What about _you _though? All things aside, are you holding out okay?"

Another shrug. "As well as can be expected, I guess."

Hermione scrutinized her momentarily. "And Malfoy?"

Ginny visibly stiffened. "What about him?"

"I don't know if you realised this at the time, but he risked his life to get you out of there. He killed a few people and ended up dueling his own father before we managed to get him away."

Something squeezed her heart as she listened to Hermione talk and a flicker of hope was ignited, which she quickly extinguished—she would never forget what he had done, never be able to fully trust him again no matter what the circumstances.

"I'm not telling you to forgive him, just think on it for a minute."

Ginny smiled tiredly and gave the older girl a quick hug. "Thanks. I think—I think I need to be alone for a while."

Hermione nodded. "If I find anything, I'll let you know."

She waved and walked off down the hallway, trying to keep herself from trembling overmuch.

–––

Hermione made sure that no one was in sight before ripping open her letter impatiently and skimming over it. The name at the bottom of the page was enough to make her drop it, but she reread it, more closely this time, puzzling at the contents.

_Miss Granger,_

_I sincerely hope you accept my apologies for my behaviour yesterday. As you may be able to tell, my son and I have had some disagreements in the past that have yet to be resolved. I would like to make this up to you, as I will make no attempt to deny that the main reason for my visit was a desire to meet you. I also believe that I have something that belongs to you. Meet me for lunch on Saturday at the Three Broomsticks. I await your reply._

_Helena Snape_

Hermione's first reaction was to show the letter to Severus, but something held her back. Most likely he would try to talk her out of the meeting, even though she was brimming with questions.

No, she decided, better to wait until after the fact to let him know, even if it was his own mother. Still feeling guilty, she folded the letter in half, tucking it into her pocket, and automatically walked to the library with a vague idea of looking up the Wolfsbane potion.

–––

Hermione patted her pocket with Dumbledore's permission letter in it and glanced over her shoulder furtively. Although she wasn't doing anything wrong—as she so frequently tried to remind herself—there was a touch of guilt every time she was reminded of her meeting with Helena Snape that she couldn't quite shed and she knew that it had to do with Severus. If he found out about this…

She tossed her head, irritated at the turn her thoughts were taking. He didn't _own _her. There was nothing he could do with Dumbledore's assent sitting in her pocket. But the thought of his disapproval made her quake.

_Stop it, _she ordered herself. _I'm just meeting his mother for lunch. Nothing special. She won't turn me against him in one afternoon—or ever. If he doesn't realise that, then he's a fool._

She checked her reflection one last time, satisfied that she looked groomed and confident, and prepared herself for the walk ahead.

–––

Ginny moaned and sat up, pushing off the blankets as she did so. Almost noon and there still didn't seem to be a reason for her to get up—except the rumbling in her stomach and the wolf's curiosity about something making noises just outside the room. Ginny pushed her away and focused her mind on something to do.

The only Gryffindor who seemed to still be talking to her was Hermione—the rest were still wary of her, even after her apparent falling out with Draco Malfoy. As for Ron and Harry—needless to say, it was fortunate that she hadn't informed anyone of the circumstances of said situation. Hermione, she would leave alone, mainly on account of the fact that in the time since school started she had been impossible to find, except on a few lucky occasions, and Lucius Malfoy's insinuations the night of—that night had led her to believe that the older girl's relationship with Snape had progressed slightly beyond hand-holding and chaste pecks on the cheek stage—not that she really wanted to think of Snape pecking anyone.

Out of nowhere, an image of Hagrid sprang to mind. For the most part, she had avoided visiting him lately because that was Harry's territory, but right now she couldn't have cared less. She had something that she could defend herself with against which he had no weapon—the thought of it made her mouth curve into a smile.

So Hagrid's it would be.

–––

"Firstly, I would like to apologize for my behaviour the other day. It was completely uncalled for."

Hermionie stifled a sound of agreement and took a sip of water, setting the bag with her returned shirt on the floor beside her. She hadn't counted on the awkwardness of this conversation. "Apology accepted."

"And secondly, I would like to make a proposition."

She was about to open her mouth in question, but Helena held up a hand.

"Hear me out. I will not attempt to disguise that fact that my son had nothing to do with this visit—our contact with one another has been more or less severed for nearly twenty years by mutual agreement due to reasons that I am sure he will tell you if he wishes you to know."

"So why did you—"

"Come? I was curious about you. When I heard about the Golden Shield, it wasn't the first time I had heard your name. You have talent, girl, and the world is starting to realise it, but raw talent isn't enough—something I think you already know. You have the mind and the ability to be something more than the average witch."

Hermione blushed and tried not to look down.

"Don't be coy—we both know it's the truth. Now, I don't know how much Severus has told you about me—though I doubt he's said much—so you may already know that my work is affiliated with several wizarding universities of good repute. If your intent was to study at one of those"—Hermione nodded—"then I can give you an opportunity to travel abroad with me for a year and while you do so, cover about four years worth of material. It will be difficult—I won't lie—and you'll have little or no contact with your friends and family, not to mention that you look like the kind of girl who likes the comforts of home, but I think you'll get far more out of it than you will lose."

Hermione chewed her lip, wanting with all of her being to jump up and say yes, but something held her back. "Do I have time to think about it?"

"I will give you until the end of Christmas holidays. I'm afraid I will need my answer by then. Time is limited."

She smiled politely, head reeling. "I think I should be able to make up my mind in three months." Helena nodded, sipping at her drink. "You're a smart girl with your head firmly on your shoulders, not to say yes or no just yet. I can see why Severus would…"

"Would what?"

"Never mind. Were you going to eat something?"

Hermione froze for a second before standing to go. "No, I really should be getting back. Thank you for the opportunity."

"It was my pleasure too. But whatever you do—don't let him make up your mind for you."

She blinked at the older woman for a second, stemming a sudden rush of anger before walking away.

–––

She approached the griffin cautiously, bucket of meat swinging at her side, careful to stay in full view and painfully aware of Hagrid's presence behind her. It rustled its—her—wings and Ginny flinched, wondering why on earth she was doing this.

_ Don't be stupid,_ she told herself. _You wanted something to do. Get it in the cage._

"You want it?" she whispered, wrinkling her nose as she picked up a piece of raw meat and dangling it in front of her. "Come and get it…"

The griffin swooped forward, claws outstretched—she dodged them reflexively, dropping the bucket and snarling as the wolf rose up unbidden. Sensing another predator, the creature let out a wild shriek as it backed away, but Ginny's thoughts remained intent on getting it into the cage. Hagrid was yelling something at her in the background, but she didn't care—all that mattered was the griffin. She wasn't sure if she had shifted, only that she felt powerful as she advanced on it, curling her upper lip as she pounced and pinned it down.

"I've got it," she shouted over her shoulder, almost unconsciously. A moment later, Hagrid had tied it up and was lifting it into the cage while she stood and dusted off her jeans.

"Tha' was bloody brilliant," Hagrid beamed as she ran a hand through her hair.

"Thank you," she replied, finding speech slightly more awkward than usual.

"Teeth," he said and she ran her tongue along them, noticing the abnormally long canines. She focused for a moment and then they were back to normal.  
"Right… So why does Dumbledore want these again?"

Hagrid shrugged. "Mascots fer th' houses."

Ginny smirked. "I take it the badger was slightly more congenial, then."

"Somethin' like tha'."

She hesitated before asking, "Hagrid… You won't tell anyone, will you?"

He sent her a look and she grinned.

"Thanks."

–––

"Don't talk so loud…"

Lupin bared his teeth in a grin. "I wasn't talking at all."  
Agrippa moaned and let her head slide onto the table of the coffee shop. "I'm too old for this. How many nights this week did you get me drunk?"

"It was bonding time," he replied lightly, sipping at his tea.

"Yes, well, now you know my life story and I know yours and we have nothing to talk about."

"Except for our headaches."

She laughed, then winced, raising her head. "So tell me why you don't have a hangover."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know my limits."

Her glare shot across the table piercingly. "So do I." A taxi honked just outside, causing her to break eye contact while she flinched. "Usually."

He rolled his eyes heavenward and placed his fingertips on her temples, massaging them for a second. "Is that better?"

She drew back, looking slightly frightened. "Don't you need a piece of wood for that kind of thing?"

His lips twitched. "There is such a thing as wandless magic, but I doubt I could do it right now. It's just a pressure point."

"Acupuncture with fingers?" she asked wryly.

"If that's what you want to call it."

"Whatever the hell it is, it worked." She grimaced and looked at her watch. "Which reminds me… I have a job to get back to. As my new bodyguard, shouldn't you be reminding me of it?"

He smirked. "No, I just keep you from getting killed. And I wouldn't let a hungover woman drill a hole in my head—dentistry sounds dangerous enough before combining it with alcohol."

Agrippa stood up and grabbed her bag, pretending to be insulted. "I think that was slightly sexist."

"Or PMS," he added, following her out.

"I'm going to hit you in a minute," she barked, sucking in deep breaths of air to try and rid herself of the headache. "And it's only paperwork today, so not to worry… All the little letters dancing around on the paper, trying to form words."

Lupin laughed as she moaned.

"In that case, won't I look slightly out of place?"

She smiled viciously. "No, you can be our new accountant."

He heaved a sigh.

"That means numbers," she added. "Lots of them, just waiting to be added."

––––

Hermione hurried down the corridor, planning on a nice, long library session to help her ignore the guilty feeling welling up inside of her when a hand reached out, grabbing a fistful of clothing and halting her.

"Sev—I mean, er, Professor Snape," she said nervously, avoiding the odd looks of students passing by.

"Miss Granger, were you going somewhere?"

"The library?" she replied, voice raising slightly in worried question as he began steering her towards his office.

"Running in the halls? That's going to have to be ten—" He cut the sentence short once they were out of earshot. "I need your help in making as much of the Golden Shield as possible. Dumbledore's informants have hinted that there isn't much time left and that we're going to need everything we've got. The potion would apply, I believe."

She nodded, hiding her relief that word hadn't reached him yet of her meeting. "I'll dig out my notes, then, and we can get started. The second brewing should go more easily, now that we know what we're doing. Get out all the leftover ingredients you can find and we'll see if we need more right away. I'll meet you in the dungeons in—" she checked her watch—"fifteen minutes."

He looked briefly taken aback by her sudden assertive attitude, but shook it off and headed down towards his workroom.

–––

"Hermione!"

"Not now Ron, I'm busy."

The redhead grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to stop in the middle of the common room. "We missed you at lunch. Where were you?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Working."

"Take a break. Me and Harry haven't talked to you for ages."

"Look, Ron, I'd love to, really I would, but not right now."

"The library can wait," he argued, making a face.

"I'm not going to the library," came the stiff reply. "Please let go of me."

"Where then?" he asked, ignoring the last part of her response.

She heaved a sigh. "The dungeons, to work on a potion."

"With Snape?"

"With Snape."

Ron's brow furrowed in confusion as he released her wrist. "I thought that was done."

She hesitated, unsure of what Ginny wanted her brother to know. "There've been… complications."

"Like what?" He met her gaze almost challengingly and she shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't have enough time to explain it right now. It's complicated."

"I sort of guessed that," he replied wryly, but didn't leave. "You know, with the complications and all."

"The potion I made for the conference might be useful in fighting You-Know-Who. I need to go grab my notes on it, if that's all right with you." The last bit was said sarcastically and she stalked away, not waiting for a reply.

–––

The ceiling was particularly boring. Draco wasn't sure why it had taken him three hours to realise the fact, but it was true—not that there was anything to do but lie back and stare blankly at it, counting wishes.

He wished that there was something to do besides wallow in guilt. He wished that Ginny would at least look at him. He wished that he hadn't been such an idiot. He wished that burning the letter of disownment his father had sent him would mean that it was gone forever. He wished that—dammit, he wished a lot of things, none of them possible.

Allowing the tip of his wand to brush his arm, he murmured a heat spell and held it there until the skin stung. At least Granger had said Ginny was holding out. The little red mark left behind was his punishment—certainly not enough to make up for what he'd done, but a start. He wondered if there would be any way to make it up to her, but the thought was stupid. He would have willingly sacrificed her to the Dark Lord if it hadn't been for the one tiny, insignificant detail that it was Ginny. For her, he was beginning to realise, walking to the ends of the earth wouldn't be quite enough.

Of course, his conscience may have played a part, but that was secondary.

Again, he pressed the wand to the white skin of his inner forearm, feeling something like satisfaction when it burned.

–––

She chewed on the tip of her quill, flipping the page of her book and squinting at the writing in thought as Severus rolled over to face her, one eye opening blearily.

"Hermione? Are you still up?"

She smiled and blew out the candle, laying her books down on the floor and snuggling up against him. "Not anymore."

He chuckled and she strained her eyes to see him in the dark.

"Can I ask you something?" she whispered suddenly.

She felt him nod against her.

"What happens after this, at graduation?"

He stiffened and replied, "I… I can't say."

"Do I stay or do I go?" she continued, sitting up restlessly. "Do you want me to—to stay in touch with you or do you expect me to walk away and forget everything?"

He sat up too and lit the lights with a flick of his wand. "What brings this on so suddenly?"

Hermione shook her head, bewilderment rising up in her. "Suddenly? In nine months, I graduate—it's about time I started to think about my future, don't you think?"

"By suddenly, I mean this very moment," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This is a conversation that would be best left until morning when we're both awake."

"No," she objected. "We've talked about the present, we've talked about the past a hell of a lot… Maybe it's time to give the future a couple of minutes."

Sensing that it was important, he trained his eyes on her steadily. "So tell me your plans."

She looked down. "Well, nothing's definite yet, but today I had a meeting with your mother—"

He drew back from her, hissing. "You did what?"

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but—"

"You better damn well be sorry. I told you—"

"Told me what? That you and her don't get along? This—this reaction is precisely why I didn't tell you. I'm not a child, Severus, and I don't want to be treated like one. You never bothered to tell me what was so horribly wrong with her and you have no right to tell me who I can and cannot talk to."

"Do you want me to tell you what she did, right down to the last gruesome detail? I meant to spare you from that—"

"Don't tell me anything if you don't want to! You didn't even bother to tell me that your mother was alive, so what should a few less important secrets matter!" she snarled. "And we didn't talk about you at all, if you're afraid she's going to turn me against you. She was giving me an educational opportunity to travel with her and study magic used in other cultures. I was going to ask your opinion, but I see that it's entirely unnecessary."

"Hermione, look at me," he tried, attempting to keep his voice calm. "It's not you I don't trust, it's her."

"Why?" she asked. "This is your own mother we're talking about. Helena Snape."

He laughed bitterly. "That's not her name."

Hermione snorted. "Really? Now tell me, are you making this up? Because it seems a little far-fetched to me."

"Her real name is Gertrude," he snorted softly. "She hasn't gone it since she killed my father."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, searching desperately for a comeback.

"That's right," he barked. "Poisoned him. Murdered him. She couldn't take it anymore."

"Couldn't take what?" Hermione finally managed.

"Him. She didn't have a choice in the marriage. Neither did he. Took her sixteen years to work up the courage to do it, and she always said it was to save me, but she wasn't fooling anyone, except maybe the jury in her trial. She told them that my father had caused her to fear for my life, but the truth was that she hated him for leading me down his path."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "From the sounds of it, you aren't a thing like your father."

Severus smiled coldly, allowing a shadow to cross his face. "I could have been, though. The night she killed him was the night that I had became a Death Eater."

She shook her head. "Maybe she was justified…"

"Maybe. But he was my father."

Hermione knuckled her forehead, hating herself for still being angry with him. "All the same, it happened and there's nothing you can do now. It still hasn't solved the after-graduation dilemma, though."

He studied her for a moment, before taking a breath. "As much as I hate the idea of losing you to her, I want you to go. I won't be the one who holds you back. She sees something in you that I do, but precious few others have. You need someone to teach you who does, and despite whatever… personal… issues I may have with her, I won't deny that you will learn more from her than you will from anyone else. Including me."

"Really?" Her happiness lasted about a second before it was replaced with a horrible sinking feeling. "But what about—what happens to us?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "That I don't know. I suppose we'll have to wait and see. Are you ready to sleep now?"

She nodded, laying down and feeling almost more heavy than before. "I think I can manage it…"

Severus turned out the lights and was asleep within minutes, but Hermione remained awake for several more hours attempting to sort through the confusion that was her thoughts.

A/N: Just in case you're curious, I don't know when the next chapter will be posted here, since over the course of the next week I will be moving. I should have Internet by next weekend; however if I don't and you are desperate (heh), Perfection is posted up to Chapter 23 on Schnoogle. The precise link to the fic is on my profile. Don't use the second one, scroll down to the bottom of my excessive profile where the fic summaries are and use that one. It works better, since it is the more recent one (from after they re-formatted the site). Otherwise Chapter 18 will be up hopefully soon!


	19. 18 Time of Troubles

Disclaimer: Don't own HP, song is cited below.

A/N: Well, I'm semi-settled in so I thought I'd give you the next chapter as a reverse housewarming gift. Also, at the request of someone who was reading this story a long time ago, I'm issuing a warning... This chapter describes a relapse into bulimia, so if this has the potential to trigger a response in you in any way, please use your own discretion in reading it. (Very end of the chapter, so if you need to skip it, there you go...)

_Old picture on the shelf_

_It's been there for a while_

_A frozen image of ourselves_

_We were acting like a child_

_Innocent and in a trance_

_A dance that lasted for a while_

_Read my eyes just like a diary_

_Oh remember, please remember_

_Well I'm not a beggar, but what's more_

_If I hurt you then I hate myself_

_I don't want to hate myself, don't want to hurt you_

_Why do you choose that pain if you only knew_

_How much I love you, no_

_Well I won't be your winter_

_And I won't be anyone's excuse to cry_

_We can be forgiven_

_And I will be here_

_–Your_ _Winter, _Sister Hazel

Perfection

Chapter 18: Time of Troubles

Severus pulled his cloak around him more tightly against the wind that already hinted at winter as he let the door to the potion supply shop close behind him. Heaving a sigh, he muttered, "Well, Mother, here goes…" as he turned in the direction of the Three Broomsticks, where he knew she was rooming.

"Severus."

The voice made him wheel around, heart in his mouth as he recognized it. "Avery," he replied curtly. "It's been a while."

"Not really," the other man said, mouth curving into a smile. "Care for a chat?"

He didn't need finely honed instincts to tell him that the discussion would not be likely to include butterbeer. "Did you need something?"

Avery's smile broadened as he felt himself seized from behind. "Yes, actually, I did."

–––

She sucked on the end of her quill, trying to concentrate on her notes, but she couldn't help worrying. The supplies had been delivered already—Severus should have returned long ago. Hermione tried to comfort herself with the thought that no one in their right mind would launch an attack on someone on a street in broad daylight, to no avail.

_Merlin_, she thought, _he's probably just stopped for a drink somewhere. You're being ridiculous and clingy._

With a shake of her head, she stood up and began pacing impatiently, moments from ripping her hair out. Was this how he had felt—completely powerless to stop anything—as a spy? If so, she was beginning to have a remarkable insight into his personality.

A knock at the door made her heart nearly stop. It couldn't be him—he would never knock to get into his own workroom—but she couldn't think of who else it would be. Opening the door, she froze in confusion.

"Miss Granger," the headmaster began gravely, "I'm afraid I have some terrible news. Your mother came under attack today by what we presume to be a small group of Death Eaters. Fortunately your former professor, Lupin, was able to successfully evade it and she is currently safe in London."

If her muscles hadn't tensed beyond belief, she might have collapsed. "Why?" she croaked, resting a hand on the wall for support. "She doesn't have anything to do with—with any of this…"

"We can only speculate, Miss Granger, that it was designed to gain leverage with you, regarding a certain potion."

The hand on the wall wasn't enough to support her any longer. Trembling knees gave way and she found her backside connecting harshly with the stone floor.

"Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?" Dumbledore inquired. The concern on his face was almost too much for her, and tears pricked at the backs of her eyes.

She shook her head sharply, something like icy resolve hardening within her. "No. No. I think I just need a minute. I'm sorry, sir."

He offered her a hand to help her up, and she took it, trying not to be alarmed at the feel of brittle bones close beneath his wrinkled skin. He was _old_.

Somehow, this alarmed her more than anything else.

–––

"I still don't understand _why _I'm a target," Agrippa cut in, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "I understand that Hermione is a witch, but I have nothing to do—"

Remus sighed heavily. "Yes, you do. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named targets muggleborns mainly and unfortunately she is one, as well as one of Harry Potter's closest friends. Both of these things put her in the direct line of fire. As I understand, she also bore witness to a Death Eater gathering of some sort and escaped alive, sanity intact, which is far more than to be expected. You-Know-Who recognized her as a threat and to be honest, I can see why. She's more powerful than she realises—take it from a former teacher. The only thing holding her back is her fear of failure and he is bound to have realised that by now. If she feels in any way that she has failed to protect you—or anyone she cares about there's no telling what it would do to her."

"Are we positive that this is _my _Hermione we're talking about?" Agrippa asked, furrowing her brow. "She's bright, there's no question about that, but I still can't see her wielding any amount of power…"

Remus breathed deeply. "That's because you still see her as the girl whose diapers you changed and who fell and scraped her knee. I'm not the only one who has noticed either. Severus realises it—he's been paying more attention to her than he does to anyone. And Dumbledore as well—it was his idea to keep you guarded at all times. In case something like what happened today occurred and you were caught defenceless."

Agrippa nodded as she contemplated this, still having difficulties getting a grasp on the concept. Molly Weasley brought her in another cup of tea, and patted her on the arm as if she were comforting a small child.

"It only gets harder," she commented wryly. "Believe me."

Agrippa's lips twitched as she leaned against the back of the sofa in exhaustion. "What about normal?"

"Never a dull moment," Remus replied cheerfully. "But we managed to escape in time, and that's the only thing that matters."

–––

"So… what is the, you know, transformation _like?_" Harry asked curiously.

Ginny pursed her lips tightly and gave a grim smile. She knew that Harry visited Hagrid frequently, but why today of all days? Controlling the griffin had been going fine until The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Leave-Her-The-Hell-Alone had turned up and automatically assumed that she was being attacked. She was positive it would take months of scrubbing before Hagrid got all the blood off of his house.

"A lot less complicated," she replied cryptically, lengthening her strides in hopes that he would get the message.

"Look," Harry said, easily matching her pace, "I'm really sorry about what happened this summer… I was under a lot of pressure and seeing you with Draco made me a little crazy."

"And an apology makes it all better," she shot back, refusing to look at him.

"Well, n-no," he stammered. "But maybe I could make it up to you sometime. Now that you're not… you know."

"Or not. I think I've reached my yearly quota of bastards already. Try again in January, if you like."

"That's bitter."

"That's life."

Eventually, they reached the stairs to the front entrance of Hogwarts and began climbing, but their stony silence was soon interrupted by Ginny's bloodcurdling shriek. "Professor Snape? Go get Madam Pomfrey! Harry, for Merlin's sake, did you hear what I—"

But Harry hadn't. He was staring at the pathetic form on the ground, pale and trembling, completely unaware of what was going on. Ginny felt a touch of panic at the sight of this—much as she disliked him at times, he was the one with experience. He was supposed to know what to do…

She grabbed his shoulders and shook him roughly, feeling a strange viciousness rise up inside of her. "Harry," she snarled, "get Madam Pomfrey _now_."

He blinked, as if only just seeing her, then set off bolting into the castle as Ginny knelt beside him, frantically feeling for a pulse and almost fainting in relief when she found it. Without thinking, she hefted him over her shoulder and began lugging him through the foyer in the direction of the hospital wing, not caring if anyone noticed her abnormal display of strength.

–––

Hermione banged through the doors of the hospital wing, heart beating so quickly she thought it was about to explode. Severus and her mother, both in one day… She caught sight of the nurse bent over him, forcing a potion down his throat and nearly burst into tears.

"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey greeted her. "Can I help you with something?"

"Is he—is he going to be okay?"

She nodded. "He'll pull through, though I'm not sure how he's managed it. It was fortunate for him that Miss Weasley and Mr Potter found him in time. The bruises will heal easily enough—it's the damage to internal organs and the concussion that are going to take time—but he should be up in another week or so."

Her eyes were drawn to the corner where Harry was huddled, shaking as Ginny tried to snap him out of it.

"Can I… talk to him?" Hermione asked tentatively, surprised by the sympathetic nod she received.

"Although I'm not sure how much he'll understand. He's rather disoriented."

Hermione sat down next to him on the hospital bed, twisting the sheets in her hands and trying desperately to keep from crying. His eyes stared at her, but they were the eyes of someone lost inside of their own nightmares, desperate and petrified.

"It's ok," she whispered, painfully aware of Madam Pomfrey's gaze on the back of her neck. "You're safe now. Everything will be fine—Madam Pomfrey says you'll be healed in a week." She paused, smoothing a piece of hair out of his face as he began to thrash wildly. "Just rest…"

His lost expression was briefly replaced by lucidity as he clutched at her arm and began speaking brokenly. "It worked—the potion. Avada Kedavra—it didn't kill me…" His mouth twitched into a weak smile. "Though their fists almost did…"

His breathing grew more laboured and he tried to sit up, but winced in pain before he could lift his head more than an inch off of the pillow. "Make more… I ordered the ingredients. Make as much as you possibly can."

"You'll help me," she tried to reassure him, afraid that he was about to sink back into whatever state he had been in previously.

"Mother," he gasped, and she leaned closer. "My eggs are burnt… Why did you burn them?"

"There's no eggs," she tried, but he was no longer seeing her.

"Why did you do it?" he shrieked out, writhing. "They were the only eggs left…"

"I'm going to have to sedate him," Madam Pomfrey said, stepping in. "He'll never heal properly otherwise."

"Has he gone insane?" Hermione asked, horrified. If only she had gone to get the supplies instead or they had just sent an owl with the order… Why had she let him leave?

"It's the post-traumatic effect," the nurse told her tersely. "He could come out of it, but there's no guarantee."

"But—"

She was cut off by Dumbledore bursting in, looking more than furious and closely followed by Draco and Ron, who appeared to have momentarily gotten over their hatred for each other.

"What has happened?" the headmaster barked out, voice harsh and white hair floating around him like a cloak.

"Yeah," Ron added, taking in the sight of Madam Pomfrey wrestling Snape down as she tried to force a sleeping draught down his throat, Hermione's tear-stained face, and Ginny hunched over Harry, still trying to convince him to stop hyperventilating.

Draco could only offer a string of curses and a longing look at Ginny.

"What's _he _doing here?" Ginny spat out, with a venomous glare at her former boyfriend.

"Making sure my head of house is still alive," he shot back.

For a moment electricity seemed to crackle around the room as Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore conferred in the corner, before Hermione spoke up. "Let's go. All of us. We'll only get in the way."

"What about Harry?" Ginny asked, reluctant to abandon her charge.

"Him too. We're going to the dungeons."

"_All_ of us?" Draco protested, with a worried glance at the youngest Weasley. "Because I really think that it would—"

"We are _all_ going to go down to the dungeons, where you are _all _going to help me with a potion that will keep us _all _from getting killed," Hermione snapped, her voice taking on a new, commanding tone that spoke of barely controlled fury. "Now _move_. Everyone."

Looking chastised, they obeyed, Ginny tugging at Harry until he followed; entirely mute except for the occasional whimper that escaped his lips. It wasn't until they reached the workroom that anyone dared to speak.

"What exactly are we doing?" Ginny asked.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath of air, trying to remain composed. "Do you remember that potions project that I worked on for a wizarding conference in Germany this summer?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"Turns out that the potion I made repels the killing curse, along with almost any other hex you can think up if you drink it once."

"So you want us to help you make more?" Ron asked, wincing. "I hate to point this out, but none of us are what you'd call gifted potion brewers."

"My marks are highest in the year," Draco interjected. "Well, except for maybe Granger's."

"Three guesses why," Ginny muttered under her breath.

"Look," Hermione cut in, before they could go at it, "I don't care—we have to do something. Not next week, not next month, _now._ I'm damned sick of just sitting here waiting for something to happen—"

"Did Granger just _swear_?" Draco asked sarcastically, eyes widening.

"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy," Hermione replied, barely resisting the urge to hit him. "The notes that I took for the potion are on the table. I suggest you all read them as soon as possible. We start tomorrow at five-thirty in the morning. Don't even consider being late."

"There's only one copy," Ginny pointed out as she began shuffling through the papers.

Clenching her teeth, Hermione waved her wand and three more appeared.

"What are we going to do about him?" Draco asked, pointing a thumb at Harry, who was still staring into space numbly.

She inhaled sharply. "I don't know. We hope that he comes to his senses. What happened to him, anyway?"

Ginny shrugged. "He saw Snape and just… froze up. I had to yell to get him to go find Pomfrey. Do you think he'll be all right?"

"I can't say. But we can't let anyone else know, whatever happens. If word gets out that the Boy-Who-Lived has cracked, it's going to be absolute insanity and Voldemort might decide that he really does want to launch a full-blown attack on Hogwarts after all. Of course, with any amount of luck..."

"Since when was luck on our side?" Draco asked gloomily.

"Thanks for the uplifting comment of the day," Ginny barked. "Your positive attitude is supporting the rest of us amazingly."

"Can we focus?" Ron broke in, surprising everyone. "Hermione's right—as usual. We have to do something. I'd really rather not work with him either, but right now, that's not the important thing."

Hermione looked at the redhead gratefully. "I'm going to go. I have to try and convince Dumbledore to let us miss classes, at least until Sev—Snape is on his feet again. Someone needs to keep an eye on the potion at all times. Nothing can go wrong. Now, start reading the notes and when I come back I'll take stock and figure out how we're going to do this."

As soon as she stalked out of the room, Draco asked, "Who put _her _in charge?" but was acknowledged only by furious glares from the opposite side of the table.

–––

He floated in stasis somewhere, not quite existing but not quite ceasing to do so either. Things replayed themselves over and over, entangling him in their web as they did so. Sometimes he thought that he came out of it and could see people bending over him, taking care of him, but they seemed no more real than the images from his past that kept returning.

_He was his father, could feel his rage as Gertrude cowered beneath him and his shadow of a son peered through the railing upstairs at the scene taking place. Felt his fist smash into the woman's jaw, wand lying forgotten on the floor behind them… _

_A moment later he was in his own body, backing away from James and Sirius, who had cornered him in the corridor, the promise of malice in their voices echoing off the walls as they closed in on him. "Scared yet, Snivellus?"_

_Then he was looking up at Hermione as she straddled him, curving her mouth into a teasing grin as he rolled over on top of her and they melded together, skin sliding over skin as the sheets twisted around them in the dim light. Arching her back into him, she lifted her head to his ear, nibbling on it for a moment, before whispering, "Come back…" _

_–––  
_

"You sure you don't need to get some rest, Granger?" Draco asked, worry getting the best of him in spite of himself.

"And leave you alone with the potion? Over my dead body, Malfoy."

He sighed and rested his head on his arms, forcing his eyes to stay open. They had been working steadily for nearly a week now, taking shifts supervising the Golden Shield and Harry at the same time—not that the latter required much effort, beyond making sure he ate three meals a day and went to the toilet at regular intervals. He mostly just sat on one of the chairs mutely, looking at them without really seeing anything as they worked. The more he contemplated it, the more he realised how right Hermione had been—no one could know how far gone Potter really was, or it would mean the Dark Lord would most likely decide to throw to hell whatever caution he had been using.

Hermione was turning out to be right about a lot of things, Draco decided, feeling a touch of respect for her. Like Neville, for instance. When she had first dragged him down to the dungeons to help them, everyone except for Harry had nearly had a conniption and launched into a discussion of every cauldron the plump Gryffindor had ever melted, but as luck would have it all Longbottom really needed to improve was Hermione's confidence.

But there was still something not quite right with Hermione. All of her drive and determination seemed to be flowing from a sort of desperation that almost didn't seem healthy. And she didn't seem to be eating, despite her constant harping at them not to overwork themselves. Almost all of the platters the house elves brought her were sent back untouched and with the exception of the one night where she had frantically convinced Dobby to bring her an extra meal at three in the morning, there had been no snacks as far as he could tell.

"What book are you reading?" he asked her, after nearly half an hour of awkward silence.

"Just one from Severus's library," she replied absently.

"Severus?"

"Professor Snape," she corrected herself, still not really paying attention.

"You're on first-name terms now?"

She put the book down and stared him down coolly. "We've been working together for a while. It only seemed reasonable."

He arched a brow. "I see… And working was entirely the reason that you were together the night of that little romp we had in the Forbidden Forest."

She nodded and he laughed. "I'm impressed with how you managed to keep such a straight face. And honestly, I don't care if the two of you are sharing sheets—it's just fun to make you flustered."

"There was a three syllable word in there somewhere. I'm impressed."

"Shocking, isn't it? But tell me, have you convinced him to take a shower yet?"

"You're a pig, Malfoy."

He chuckled and let her go back to reading as he idly practiced transforming a quill to a piece of parchment and back again. A while later, he stopped and began talking again.

"So tell me, is it a love thing or purely physical?"

"You really are challenged when it comes to the silence thing aren't you?" she snapped. "And it's none of your damn business."

"So there is something going on, then," he smirked.

"Didn't we establish that half an hour ago?"

"No, I presented my theory to you, but you didn't admit a thing. Now it's been proven."

"Would you like my diary as well?"

"Only if you've described all the erotic bits in great detail…"

Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. "Nights been lonely lately?" she inquired acidly.

"You have no idea…" He sighed and studied the surface of the table, suddenly overcome by emotion that didn't fit their wry conversation.

"You miss her, don't you?" Hermione asked sympathetically.

He nodded bitterly. "I didn't think… I had no idea that I would care this much. I didn't know that I knew how."

Hermione smiled a little sadly. "Life goes on, I guess."

"Sure wish it didn't." He sniffed, then wiped his eyes hastily. "I wasn't crying," he defended before she could comment.

"Of course not," she replied soothingly. "I can watch the potion on my own, if you like. You look like you need a rest."

He shook his head. "No use. I won't be able to sleep."

She laughed dryly. "You too?"

–––

"Physically, he's almost completely healed," Madam Pomfrey was saying. "But I can't seem to get him out of whatever state he's in."

Hermione bit her lip and stared down at Severus, tears springing to her eyes.

Madam Pomfrey patted her on the arm awkwardly. "Don't give up yet. Give him a little time. It's only been a week and a half."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "D'you think it would be all right to sit with him for a while?"

The nurse pulled the curtain around the bed to give them some privacy, then bustled off into the next room as Hermione sank down onto the white blankets, curling up next to him and resting her head on his shoulder, fingering a button on his shirt.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, closing her eyes. "I never should have let you go out that day…"

She buried her head in his arm, letting some tears leak out, and lay there for a few moments, trying to pretend that nothing was any different. "We're still working on the potion," she told him, moving her lips although barely any sound came out. "Almost done the first batch. I think you'd be surprised by Neville—he hasn't choked once. It's like I said—all he needs is someone to believe he can do it. And Malfoy's been almost bearable through the whole thing, although that might be lack of sleep talking. We still can't leave him and Ginny in a room together though. And Ron—he's been different, taking things seriously. He's still not that great when it comes to actually making the potion, though… I wish you were there to see it. I miss being able to ask questions instead of being the one in charge all of the time. I can do it, just… it's not the same. I'm always worried that someone is going to ask a question I don't know the answer to…" Her voice broke off and she closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill over and drown her. "I should go check on the others," she whispered after a few minutes of silence. "I don't trust them to do it properly."

Hermione stood up slowly, bending over to kiss him lightly on the lips before jogging off without looking back.

–––

The images were beginning to fade, giving way to blackness. He tried to cling to them, terrified that without them there would be simply nothing, which was infinitely worse than being forced to relive his life in a random scattered order. He writhed, fighting the darkness, but the pull was too strong and eventually he gave himself up to it.

Everything melted together and only one sound remained echoing in his mind, beckoning him onwards

–––

"Should I add some more?" Hermione wondered aloud to Harry, who only looked at her vaguely. "I'm not sure that the consistency is what it should be, but some more of the dragon blood should help."

His gaze wandered away, making her sigh heavily.

"Why am I asking you?" she muttered, annoyed at herself. "You aren't hearing me. Neither is he. No matter what I say, no matter what I do. I could tell you anything right now and I wouldn't have to worry about it getting spread around."

Burying her head in her hands, she swallowed the lump growing in her throat. She couldn't cry, despite the fact that every day, another part of her seemed to slip away. For the first time in her life, people were looking to her, counting on her to be strong and she refused to let them down, no matter how bleak things seemed.

"You know what I wish?" she continued, more to keep from being swallowed by silence than anything. "Not that it matters, but I wish that I could at least have had a chance to tell him what he meant to me. We talked about everything else, but never us. It sounds horribly cliché, but it's the truth." She paused to shake her head. "Maybe I've been at this too long. Talking to a crazy person and myself can't be a good sign. Sleeping could be nice—if I could get rid of my insomnia. Draco should be here soon. Then I'll at least be able to rest. That's another sign that my sanity's waning—trusting a Malfoy. Merlin, I wish you could answer me…"

–––

The darkness was fading into a painfully white light that scorched his eyes and made his head throb. At first, he thought that he had gone mad but after a moment, he realised that he was in the hospital wing. He tried to remember what he was doing here, but the last he could remember was the potion shop in Hogsmeade. He had left, walked down the street towards where his mother was staying… Avery… Avery had been there, as well as several others.

But who?

He strained his mind, knowing that he would have to report. Narcissa—he would recognize her frozen touch anywhere. Pettigrew as well, and Goyle.  
And one other—someone familiar, but out of their natural setting. He shifted slightly, trying to recall the movements, the voice… It came to him sosuddenly that, had he been sitting up, he would have been bowled over. As it was, he felt a shudder of surprise run through him.

_Percy Weasley._

How on earth could he break the news to Molly?

He was saved having to consider the question too deeply by Madam Pomfrey, who bustled in and had to mask a gasp upon seeing him awake.

"Severus, good morning," she greeted him, advancing on him with a vial of some sort of concoction. "The Granger girl will be glad to know you've woken up at last. I could barely keep her away."

"Morning?" he asked, trying to sit up and failing miserably. "It's morning already? Where's Dumbledore? I need to talk to him."

She hardly missed a beat, swooping and replying, "It's a bit later than the morning after."

Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult as he inquired, "How many days have we lost?"

She handed him the potion. "Drink this. And it's not a matter of days—it's weeks. Three and a half to be exact."

He tried to mask his sense of panic, but the liquid that was spraying out of his mouth didn't help. "Three weeks?"

She nodded, tight-lipped. "We were starting to worry you weren't coming back, especially with all of the sedatives we had to give you."

"Sedatives?" he snapped, succeeding in raising himself from the pillow. "You gave me sedatives?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded tersely. "I know you hate them, but there wasn't much choice. You were completely incoherent and if you had seen the look on her face, you would have done the same."

"Who?"

"Miss Granger. One minute you were talking to her, the next… something about burnt eggs. She looked ready to break apart."

Hermione. He had been going to visit his mother with the purpose of discussing her—actually, he had planned less of a conversation and more of a threat, but no matter.

He swallowed. "H-how is she?"

"She's fine."

–––

Ginny was restless. The last full moon—which she had spent locked in the shrieking shack—had left her wild and unfulfilled and the wolf was positively begging to be let out. She slammed the book that she was trying to study closed and glanced around the room. Not even Harry was there—Hermione had put him to sleep in the next room over. There was no reason not to. It wasn't as if she wasn't in control…

She stood and shifted, clothing falling away from her form as she did so and feeling the now-familiar rush of strength fill her.

–––

However brilliant and talented in other areas she might be, Minerva McGonagall was not a Potions teacher, Hermione speculated. Far from, in fact. Thankfully, the time to relieve Ginny from her duties was approaching and this torture would be short-lived.

She couldn't help but wonder what Severus would think about how his class had deteriorated in his absence. An image of his coal-black eyes flashing with smugness as he muttered bitterly about inept teachers sprang to mind, making it difficult to keep a straight face and preserve every moment in her mind to repeat to him. If he woke up, they would laugh about it. No, she corrected herself. Not if, when.

A knock at the door caused everyone to turn in surprise and stare at Madam Pomfrey, who was beckoning Hermione into the corridor. She stood, heart in her mouth and gathered up her books, wondering what could have possibly gone so horribly wrong that she would be called out of class. On her way out, she made sure that she caught Draco's eye and mouthed, Your turn, so that there could be no dispute.

She caught sight of his nod before the door swung shut behind her, leaving her alone with the nurse.

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked finally, trying to keep bile from rising up in her throat.

The older woman shook her head. "He's awake. I thought that you might be interested."

Madam Pomfrey's expression never changed from the firm, unwavering one that Hermione had grown used to, but Hermione was touched nonetheless.

"Is it—is it all right if I see him?" she inquired tentatively, preparing herself for the rejection.

The nurse nodded and barely a second later, Hermione was sprinting past her up the stairs not bothering to hide her relief.

–––

Draco pushed the workroom door open and, for a second, he could have sworn that his heart stopped at the sight of the animal that was pausing in mid-step to study him, fangs bared. He blinked and looked again, only now it was Ginny crouching on the floor naked.

"Care to tell me what the hell is going on, Weasley?" he drawled, picking up her heap of clothes and tossing them at her.

"Not really," she shrugged, pulling the robes on easily, obviously not bothered by modesty.

"I realise that you're a werewolf and all, but it's not quite the full moon, so I think that you should explain."

"And give me one good reason why I should listen to you," she snarled. "I could rip you apart without even bothering to change if I felt like it."

"But you won't," he smirked.

"Give me one good reason not to."

"I saved your life," he said simply. "You owe me."

"If it hadn't been for you, my life wouldn't have need saving," she barked out.

"Do you really think that if it hadn't been for me you would have been fine? The Dark Lord wants you—don't say that you don't realise that. I don't know why, but he does. What I did was just a little hiccough in his plan."

"My hero," she spat sarcastically. "Why don't you go and put one of those stupid suits of armour on so you can look the part?"

"I was scared, all right?" he roared, voice cracking with emotion. "I didn't know what I was doing. I wasn't given a choice. I came home for Christmas holidays and my father gave me instructions. My father."

"And we all know what a worthy man he is."

"He said that it was the only way."

"The only way to what? Get laid?" she asked, eyes glittering with barely repressed fury. "Stop trying to justify yourself, Malfoy. There's always a choice."

"What would you know?"

"Don't even think about trying to blame this on me. I had nothing to do with it."

"Keep telling yourself that," he retorted. "Maybe sooner or later you'll believe it."

She froze, torn between running and shredding him to pieces. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think that my father didn't tell me about the Chamber? I may not have known at the time, but I heard all of the details later—"

The blow aimed at his head, strong enough to send him reeling into the far wall, cut him off. "Merlin, Weasley, what are you doing?" he coughed, staggering to his feet.

"Not another word," she hissed, the tendrils of her fury snaking around him. "Hermione might be willing to put up with you, but I'm not. I don't know why I ever thought that I could."

She turned and exited, her face deceptively calm. It was only once he was certain that she wasn't coming back that he allowed himself to bury his head in his arms and sink against the wall in bitter resignation.

–––

"I can't believe that you're awake," she murmured in his ear, idly tracing a design on his chest with a fingertip. "Three weeks really isn't that long, but it  
felt like it…"The corners of his mouth twitched as he propped himself up. "Don't tell me that you were giving up."

"Never."

She was stretched out beside him, her head tucked into the hollow in his chest and more relaxed than she had been in what felt like years. Both of them were more than thankful that Madam Pomfrey had granted them a semblance of privacy by drawing the curtains around Severus's bed.

"Will you be able to leave soon?"

"Tomorrow," he replied. "But no teaching for a week."

Hermione moaned, drawing a soft chuckle from him.

"Is Minerva really as dismal as you suggest?"

She nodded solemnly. "Mind, I'm a bit biased…"

Their conversation broke off as they shared a kiss that was made awkward by the strange angle of their heads. Hermione slid upwards so that it was slightly more even and was barely able to pull away in time to prevent Madam Pomfrey from seeing as she pushed her way in bearing another potion.

"Drink this."

Severus gulped it down, then gagged. "Disgusting."

"It's another one of yours," the nurse smirked. "Don't blame me."

Ignoring the last comment, he turned back to Hermione. "So tell me more about how Weasley and Malfoy have been in the same room without strangling each other."

"Which Weasley?"

–––

"I know you'll think I'm completely crazy, but I think it's worth a try."

Remus met her gaze firmly, shaking his head as he sawed off a piece of steak. "I don't think it's crazy at all."

Agrippa furrowed her brow, ignoring the fact that her dinner was almost completely untouched. "Are you sure? I mean, if I'm going to be serious about this, it's going to mean losing my job security and the nice pay check that goes along with it."

He patted her hand and pushed the plate towards her. "You said that the time was right. You're ready for a change and if change means going back to university and becoming a lawyer, I can't see what's wrong with that."

"What about—"

"Hermione is more than old enough to take care of herself. In fact," he continued, holding up a hand to silence the protest, "I'm sure that she will more than survive on her own. Now eat."

–––

"Mother," Severus greeted her, sitting up as Helena Snape entered the hospital wing.

"How would you feel if I started calling you 'son', rather than your name," she challenged him. "You haven't recognized me as your mother in years, so why so formal?"

He sighed heavily. "Helena, then."

"Yes, dear?"

"A few weeks ago you had a discussion of sorts with a student of mine."

"Come, now, Severus, we both know that she's much more than that. And yes, I did. So she told you, did she?"

"Yes, she did."

"And you want to tell me to stay the hell away from her, is that right?" Helena sneered. "It's hardly your decision to be making."

"That's what I want to say," he deliberated. "But instead I'm going to tell you to take care of her better than you would your own. I know how you treat your own."

"So you're letting her go?"

"Letting?" he repeated, astounded by her choice of wording. "As you said, it's hardly my decision. She isn't mine."

His mother only arched a brow in reply.

–––

She was leaning against the bathroom stall, in the same position that she had been repeatedly in so many months ago.

_I was better,_ she thought frantically, wrapping her arms around her form. _How did this happen?_

She spat out another mouthful of saliva, trying to eradicate the taste of bile from her mouth. It was the stress of last few weeks, that was all. Nothing to do with her, just a momentary lapse into old habits.

But how easy it was to do…  
_  
_


	20. 19 Coin Operated Boy

Disclaimer: The usual for the HP universe. Song is 'Coin-Operated Boy' by The Dresden Dolls.

A/N: Just a heads-up–a bit of non-con in this chapter. Not descriptive, but it's there, so I thought I'd give a quick warning.

_And if I had a star to wish on_

_For my life I can't imagine_

_Any flesh and blood could be his match_

_I can even take him in the bath_

_Coin-operated boy_

_He may not be real_

_Experienced with girls_

_But I know he feels like a boy should feel_

_Isn't that the point?_

_That is why I want a_

_Coin-operated boy_

_With a pretty coin-operated voice_

_Saying that he loves me that he's thinking of me_

_Straight and to the point_

_That is why I want_

_A coin-operated boy_

--_Coin-Operated Boy_, The Dresden Dolls

Perfection

Chapter 19: Coin-Operated Boy

"Who moved this?" Hermione asked accusingly, exiting the storage room while brandishing a vial of Sleeping Draught. Four of the five others in the room glanced at one another surreptitiously as Harry continued humming tunelessly and staring at something in the corner.

"We did," Ginny finally replied, pointing a finger at herself and Neville. "We gave some to Harry last night. I was worried because he's hardly slept since… well, you know."

Hermione forced herself to inhale and retain a degree of composure. "How much did you give him?"

Ginny shrugged. "A spoonful, if that. And relax. I'm sure Snape will have expected his workroom to fall into dishabille. It _is_ us after all."

Hermione snorted softly as she disappeared again. "Just be careful of what you give him and make sure you keep track. We don't want him to become dependent on the stuff."

"Taken up French, have you?" Draco sneered at Ginny.

She turned and began to advance on him, but Ron stepped between them, keeping them at arms length from each other. Ginny snarled at her brother, feeling the change begin to rise up unbidden, before deciding to back off. Not all of them needed to know her secret just yet.

–––

"Stop hovering! It's not as though I'm going to keel over walking from the hospital wing to my workroom," Severus barked and Hermione jumped back.

"I'm sorry… It's just…"

"I know." He pulled her back to him and brushed her lips with his gently, then pulled away. "Are you sure that this cloaking spell works?"

"Of course I am!" she exclaimed, mildly affronted.

"Wonderful," he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers again and guiding her until she was pressed up against the wall.

"Glad to see you're back," she gasped as he began nuzzling her neck and hiking up her skirt.

"Just as _pleased_ to know you missed me."

–––

"Where are they?" Neville moaned, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm surprised you had to ask," Draco commented, smirking. "I'm sure she's got her mouth open—"

"Would you cut it out?" Ron snapped. "Making this damn potion is stressful enough, not mention that the wizarding world's only apparent hope is currently spending his days endlessly amused by the damn _wall_, without you giving me those mental images.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Weasley. I was _going _to say that she's probably got her mouth open in _shock _that Pomfrey healed him so fast. Though now that you mention it, I always thought there was something strange going on between the two of—"

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Hermione's voice greeted them, as the door swung open revealing nothing.

"Er, 'Mione, where are you?" Ron asked.

"Oh, sorry."

A moment later, the figures of her and Snape materialised and she kicked the door shut, sitting down between the quietly humming figure of Harry, whose back was to the table, and Ginny, who looked more than grateful that they had finally arrived.

"Sev—sir?" Hermione asked. "Were you going to sit down?"

His only reply was to turn even paler.

"Are you all right?" she panicked, leaping out of her seat.

"What is _he _doing here?" Severus asked, pointing a slightly trembling finger at Neville. "_Here. _My workroom."

"It's okay," Hermione tried to comfort him, leading him to the chair, which he sat in, looking rather stunned. "He was helping. We didn't have nearly enough people to watch the potion constantly."

"_Helping?_" he croaked weakly, making Neville shift in discomfort.

"Everything's working out fine," she said soothingly.

He took a couple of deep breaths, as if to keep from hyperventilating, before sitting up a little straighter, ignoring the more than amused glances being sent at him.

"Right then," Hermione announced briskly, moving back to her side of the table. "First batch of the Shield will be ready to send to the Order next week. I suggest that someone go with it to provide instructions." She looked pointedly at Severus. "Either you or me. Your call, but we can discuss that later."

He nodded, looking taken aback by her suddenly confident demeanour.

"Next thing is Harry," she continued, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Simply hiding him isn't enough anymore—people are starting to question that he's had a bout of the flu that's lasted this long. Madam Pomfrey usually heals people more quickly that this."

"What else can we do?" Ron argued. "Letting everyone else see him like this would be worse—you said it yourself."

Neville mumbled something, causing everyone to jerk towards him, more than surprised by his contribution.

"What?" Ginny asked, squinting as though it would help her to hear.

"Imperius," he repeated fearfully, looking as if he wished he could take it back.

Hermione chewed her lip. "Is that a good idea? What about Polyjuice?"

"No," Severus broke in. "Polyjuice would take too long to make. Potter needs to make an appearance as soon as possible. Imperius takes no preparation and it can be made to take hold for as long as you want without following the person around with your wand outstretched for the world to see."

"I can't believe we're even considering it," Ron muttered. "Imperius? Azkaban? Life-sentence? Is anyone else remembering this?"

"Do we really have a choice? If you have a better idea, feel free to spit it out," Draco shot back. "It's this or complete pandemonium."

Severus stood up quickly, nearly knocking his chair over backwards. "I'll be back shortly. I need to inform Dumbledore."

"He'll never agree," Ginny protested, standing up as well. "Why don't we just—"

For a moment, anger flashed in his eyes before he smiled coolly. "Trust me, Miss Weasley, he _will _agree. This _is _the only way."

He swept out, leaving them to look helplessly at Hermione, who only shrugged. "It makes sense. Who would drink the Polyjuice potion, anyway? None of us can really afford to miss more classes than we are already. Including Snape."

"Snape'll be the one who casts the spell, right?" Ron asked nervously. "He won't expect one of us to do it. Will he?"

She shook her head emphatically. "He won't. But I will."

Draco slammed a hand down on the table. "Who else votes that Granger's finally cracked?"

"Fuck off, Draco," Ginny snarled, baring her teeth. "If anyone's cracked, it's you."

He smirked, but backed off without a fight.

"You want one of us to cast Imperius?" Neville enquired uneasily. "I mean, it's an Unforgivable."

"Well, he can't," Hermione pointed out. "He's not nearly up to full strength yet and he can't waste what he's got…"

The rest of them glanced shiftily at one another, no one willing to speak up.

"I'll do it," Ginny said finally.

"You don't have to," Hermione protested. "I can—"

"No," the redhead argued. "You can't. You need to focus on the Shield. It was you that made it the first time, not Snape. You're the brains behind this. No one can afford to have you distracted."

"But the rest of you know how to make the potion now."

Ron shook his head. "Gin's right. We would have made a mess of it if you hadn't been hovering over us for every stage of it. We don't want to make a mess of it next time. It can't be you or Snape for sure."

"Why don't I?" Draco suggested, looking more afraid than he would have liked. "You lot couldn't care less if I end up in Azkaban."

"Too true," Ginny mumbled under her breath, making Hermione kick her.

Too all of their surprise, it was Ron who objected. "You're next best at potions, even if your father did buy your grades. Neville and me are pretty much hopeless—no offence—and Gin's just a sixth year."

The younger girl's eyes flashed. "Maybe I _am _a sixth year, but I'm stronger than you think, especially since… Well, the point is, I'm strong. I can handle it and _I _won't get caught. Who's going to suspect _me_ of doing something illegal?"

Draco snorted delicately, even as Hermione was nodding. "You're right. Glad that we've finally decided _something_. Ginny's our best option."

"No," Neville pointed out. "Snape still has to convince Dumbledore."

–––

"Severus, I understand what you are suggesting, but I can't allow—"

"You have to!" he spat out bitterly. "Believe me, if circumstances were different I certainly wouldn't be condoning Longbottom's thought process, but I can't see any other way."

"I fail to see what is wrong with the Polyjuice potion. To my understanding Miss Granger is quite adept at brewing it."

"And to mine as well, but we don't have the _time_. And don't pull out your time-turner, old man. That's only one of the problems with using the potion. Who would be the one to drink it? Sooner or later people would start noticing."

Albus Dumbledore sighed heavily and pushed his half-moon glasses up his nose, looking older than ever. "I _do _understand the necessity of Harry making an appearance. I've been putting this off in hopes that he would regain his sanity, but it is becoming clear that that particular day may be a very long way off. I'd hate to see our side stoop to the level of mind control to keep the general public relatively calm."

"I hate it just as much as you," Severus said stiffly, slumping back in his chair. "I just can't see a way around it."

Dumbledore shook his head, half with regret, half with admiration. "I envy you Slytherins. You are able to see what needs to be done and simply do it, unhampered by ethics, almost."

"Some more than others," came the wry reply.

–––

"Christmas is two months away. I'm sure you'll be able to find a _straight _man to go with you by then," Lupin groaned as Agrippa dragged him into the store.

"Don't be ridiculous," she argued. "I'm slightly off of men right now—you being the exception. And I thought you were my bodyguard."

"No one mentioned office parties at the time," he muttered.

"We'll need to find you a suit," the woman continued, apparently oblivious.

"And I don't have any money…"

"Oh, and please refrain from drooling over the male models. That can be my job," she added with a grin.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Just because I shag them doesn't mean—" he paused, peering over his sunglasses at a man leaving the store.

"If you were going for the James Bond look, I think it worked," Agrippa remarked.

"What?"

"He's—oh, never mind."

He shook his head. "Muggle culture is far too in depth for me."

"I had noticed."

–––

"The Imperius curse can be modified, depending on whether it is going to be used for an extended period of time or not. The spell you cast will be one of the former and therefore will require less conscious thought, but a great deal more power."

Ginny nodded, forcing herself to meet Snape's cool gaze as Hermione looked on idly. "You don't think I can do it," she said flatly.

"The likelihood is small," he agreed, "but since you are our only volunteer—"

"I _said _that I could," Hermione commented.

Snape whipped around, glaring fiercely. "And I _said _that I wouldn't allow it."

Her eyes widened furiously and she opened her mouth to retort something, but he cut her off.

"For the potion's sake, if not yours," he told her, more gently, before turning back to the redhead who was eying him with defiance.

"Aren't you going to at least try to teach me?" she challenged.

"That I am. We will begin with the incantation."

Within three hours, Ginny had mastered the spell, much to the surprise of both Hermione and her instructor. Snape gave her a curt nod as the twelfth spider obeyed her bidding perfectly and went scuttling across the desk, which was the closest he had come to a compliment in over five years of teaching her.

"Time to try on something bigger," he told her, wiping sweat off of his forehead, feeling the after-effects of his illness.

Hermione twirled her wand, apparently casual, and moved her lips silently. He shot her a sharp glance and she stopped temporarily, only to resume when his focus returned to Ginny.

"An animal?" the redhead asked.

He shook his head. "Harry."

Ginny bit her lip, feeling a rush of something that was both fear and anticipation. "Harry?" she repeated, just to be sure. "Wouldn't it be better to practice on—"

"The Imperius curse reacts remarkably similarly to non-humans as it does to people," Hermione told her, then grinned at Snape's glare. "Sorry. Didn't mean to steal your fire."

His mouth twitched slightly before he focussed once again on Ginny. "What are you waiting for, girl? Do it."

"I _was_," she snapped, raising her wand. "_Imperio._"

There was no visible sign that anything magical had taken place, but for a brief moment power reverberated through the room.

"You don't need to speak to give him orders," Snape murmured, clearly impressed.

"I _know _that."

Almost instantly, the boy stood up, smiling at Hermione and Ginny. "Hey," he said. "Where are we? And why's _he _here?"

"Don't ask," Ginny ordered, slightly terrified of the power rush that was streaming through her veins. It was almost as strong as the one after she changed. "And don't tell anyone."

"Should he be asking so many questions?" Hermione asked, her brow creasing with worry.

"I told him to act normal," Ginny assured her. "If he wasn't nosy, people would think that something was wrong."

Snape snorted, but quickly covered it with a scowl. "What are you waiting for? Go take your new pet for a walk."

The last comment resulted in a fit of giggles from Hermione that Ginny could still hear once she was in the corridor.

"_Pet?_" she gasped. "Why didn't you just say 'love slave' or 'boy toy'?"

"Some of us prefer to be discreet, my dear. And just as many do not connect sex with every comment made."

"But you're not one of them."

He bared his teeth in a vicious grin. "No. I don't believe I am."

She returned his smile as he closed in on her and tilted her head back. "For which I am very glad."

He grasped her wrists in both hands and brushed his lips against the side of her head.

"Don't think that you managed that little spell of yours undetected, my dear."

Hermione's mouth curved. "Don't pretend that you weren't exhausted."

"I was perfectly all right before your interference," he murmured, fingering her collar.

She snorted delicately. "I'm sure that you were." Peering up at him through her lashes innocently, she added, "You wouldn't happen to need another _boost _would you?"

Severus regarded her, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Insolent girl."

She raised herself so that she was pressed against him and had an arm hooked around his neck. His fingers stopped toying with the collar of her shirt and began slipping down.

"Have I ever mentioned how utterly repulsive that skirt is?"

"Why don't you get rid of it, then?"

"I think I will."

As drew her legs out of the skirt, she added, "Your clothes aren't much to look at either."

Moments later, Hermione's carefully organised notes were tumbling to the floor as she fell back against the wooden surface of the desk, her fingers buried in Severus's hair as he came down on top of her.

–––

Draco did a double take when Ginny entered the Great Hall that evening with Potter in tow.

_She pulled it off, _he thought admiringly.

The spell he had only mastered after years of his father's instruction had taken her an afternoon to learn. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or slightly worried.

After a moment's deliberation, he smugly approached her table, attracting unwelcome looks from all sides.

"Looks like you got your boy toy back," he sneered. "I guess it was just wishful thinking on our part that something was wrong."

"Get lost, Malfoy," the dark-haired boy snarled.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Very impressive."

The comment was directed at Harry, but Ginny caught the compliment behind it and was barely able to keep from flushing.

"You heard him," she said softly, her glare sliding back into place without missing a heartbeat. "When have you ever been welcome here?"

–––

Ginny fell back on her bed, feeling ill. She waved her wand indolently at the door, locking it—even though she was using Hermione's room to hole up with Harry, she didn't want anyone barging in unexpected. Especially not when she was crying.

_You hate him_, she reminded herself. _How can you doubt that, especially after what he did? He was born a Malfoy and whatever illusions you may have had at any point, that's all he is now._

She was itching to change, but even she realised that it would be foolish to do so in the dormitories. The wolf was snarling to get out and so was she, but she knew that she wouldn't make it as far as the common room without being bombarded.

_Very impressive._

Draco's words echoed in her mind, accompanied by the image of his cocky, superior expression that filled her with a strange sort of desire to either rip something apart or fuck.

Glancing around Hermione's immaculately arranged room, she knew that survival was minimal if she so much as moved anything, so fucking it would have to be. She moaned in frustration, far from oblivious to the fact that her wolf self had the ability to make her irresistible to anyone who she singled out—apparently research did sometimes lead to new discoveries. But Gryffindor boys were a lost cause, with their notions of love and sex going hand in hand. Besides, she wanted _Draco_. Or someone experienced, at the very least, in his absence.

Briefly, she considered Snape—he seemed to know how to please Hermione—but disregarded it almost instantly. Theirs was a companionship that extended beyond the physical and she wouldn't be the one to take away the other girl's happiness—although the knowledge that they were probably enjoying some form of intimacy just then hardly helped her condition. The rest of Slytherin was full of males that she wouldn't trust if they were tied up, blindfolded, and locked away in Azkaban and Hufflepuff was worse than Gryffindor when it came to honour. The Ravenclaws were still slightly bitter towards her after the failure of her and Michael's relationship—among other things, they were champions when it came to holding grudges.

Out of the blue, a thought that was both sickening and exciting came to her. Glancing up at Harry, who was staring at her blankly, she closed her eyes. How could she even think it? What would it do to him?

_He's practically brain dead, _a nasty voice whispered in the back of her mind. _Even if he ever regains sanity, he probably won't remember any of this._ _He doesn't know you._

"Harry," she said, voice shaking with the notion of what she was about to do. "Come here…"

The tendrils of horror let go of her as he pinned her down on the bed, moving exactly as she instructed. She found that if she closed her eyes, she could pretend that it wasn't Harry on top of her, but someone else whose face she could reconstruct in her mind's eye with flawless detail. Arching her back into the cotton sheets, she relished the experience, knowing that no one else would ever be able to touch her in just the same way.

But once her ecstasy faded, reality hit, forcing her to roll onto her side and vomit repeatedly into the wastebasket that was at the bedside.

"What have I done?" she asked Harry, only to find that he would not reply until she told him what to say.

Wiping away tears before they could fall, she left the room and ploughed her way out of the portrait hole, heading directly for the Forbidden Forest—it was the only place that she could let herself run free.

–––

"Are you feeling all right?" Hermione asked, pulling the tangled sheets up so that they were covered.

"Well, now that we've migrated to a _bed_, things have improved drastically," Severus replied dryly, closing his eyes.

She shifted so that she was tucked next to him, realising just how much she had missed the sensation of skin on skin.

"Why did they do it?" she whispered in his ear.

He sighed heavily. "It's the price of betrayal."

"Redemption," she corrected softly. "Not betrayal."

"They'll try it again," he warned. "And it won't be just me who they go after."

"I know. But they'll only succeed if we let them."

He snaked his arms around her protectively. "And we won't."

–––

Ginny finally returned at dawn, exhausted from the hunt. Harry hadn't moved from the position that she had left him in, hadn't even dressed himself, but the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach had gone and now all she was left with was a vague sense of guilt. Truth was, the night before had blurred together in her memory and even if she had wanted to remember, she doubted that anything would be clear. Absently, she ordered, "Put something on," before marching straight through to Hermione's bathroom and picking bits of flesh from her teeth.

The bathroom was nice, she noted. Not built for luxury, yet certainly much better than those reserved for the rest of the students. And that went without mentioning the other girl's neatly organized bath products.

Forgetting her teeth, she went over to the edge of the bathtub and sniffed bath oils, sharpening her sense of smell so that the full strength of the aroma hit her. Picking her favourite, she turned on the tap and began running water until the tub was full, then proceeded to scrub herself clean.

The taste of blood was still tantalizingly fresh in her mouth.

–––

Helena Snape sat mutely, watching dawn break over Hogsmeade, unfinished letter on the writing desk before her. She felt on edge, afraid—an emotion that had remained unfamiliar to her since her late husband's demise, may he burn in hell. Fear was not something that she felt often or strongly, but today it was so deep that it ached in her bones, making clutching her quill next to impossible.

In this mind-numbing terror, however, one thing became violently clear. Time was running out and she needed the girl.

Otherwise, everything would have been for nothing.

–––

"Hello, Ginny."

The dark-haired boy approached her from the shadows of the chamber.

"Tom," she replied, strangely civil—especially for her.

"So strange that we meet again after all these years—here, of all places."

He gestured airily around the dank room—in the direction of Salazar Slytherin's statue, towards the decaying basilisk—and smiled icily.

"Indeed, it's been a while."

"Time moves so fast," he commented. "Not so very long ago I was nothing more than a memory and you—you, my dear, were nothing more than a little girl." He shook his head. "Now look at us. My former strength is restored and you have gained much more than even I believed possible—without me. A creature of the night, with the power to change at will—but I suppose we have a certain Remus Lupin to thank for that. If it hadn't been for the Wolfsbane…"

"Do you have a point?" she snapped. "Find it before you impale yourself on the tip. Not that it would be a loss or anything."

Riddle sighed. "Such an impatient girl. But I suppose part of that is the wolf. And yes, I do have a point, but I would like to go somewhere else to discuss it—somewhere with a slightly _homier _feel, if you'll pardon the expression."

He gestured again and the room dissolved into another, with a fire crackling in front of two cosy armchairs.

"This isn't real," she said flatly.

"No it isn't," he agreed. "But the only time I could possibly have a reasonable discussion was while you were asleep. You've become far too adept at shutting me out, not to mention our little romp in the forest when Lucius kidnapped you. That caused me a great deal of trouble, you know. Especially having to eradicate Severus from the ranks—irritating, moral-bound fool that he was, he had his uses."

"That's certainly a relief," she replied, sitting down. "Since I don't seem to be waking up, you may as well talk."

"With pleasure." A glass of wine appeared in his hand, and he handed it to her. "Not quite a substitute for blood, I confess, but it's made well enough."

She accepted it, settling back and preparing herself for a load of bullshit.

"You see," he began, conjuring up his own goblet, "I owe you a debt. You tried—and very nearly succeeded—to help me return to full power, unwitting though it may have been. And I always reward those who help me."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "That's what you were trying to do? I couldn't tell."

He gave an appreciative chuckle. "Some feel that my methods are somewhat—unorthodox—but I find that they tend to be effective, for the most part."

"In English, for those of us who don't follow Voldie-speak," she snapped, losing the fraction of patience that she had.

"I can give you things that you can hardly dream of—you needn't fear that I will not uphold my end of the bargain. I'm afraid that I'm required to."

"Seducing me with power won't work."

He studied her closely for a moment. "No, I can see that. There's hardly anything left to be done. You've already done half the job yourself."

She twitched violently. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I won't insult your intelligence by answering. But remember my offer. You will be able to find me when you change your mind."

She blinked, surprised to find herself in the now-cool water of Hermione's bath.

_One hell of a dream_, she thought, climbing out and wrapping a towel around herself tightly.

–––

Hermione rolled over, gradually awakening from her first real sleep in weeks, and met the gaze of the dark-haired man who was studying her.

"Is it morning already?" she yawned. "And is my bed hair really so bad that it warrants all of this staring?"

A corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he shook his head.

"Then what is it?"

"Just missed looking, is all."

She blushed in spite of herself. "Wow. That was almost… wow. Nice. Who are you and what have you done with Severus Snape?"

He shifted uncomfortably, then sat up, leaning against the headboard. "Don't you have class?"

She laughed. "You really have lost track of time, haven't you? It's a Saturday. And even if there were classes, I've missed so many that a few more wouldn't matter."

His eyebrow nearly shot up to his hairline. "Who are _you_ and what have you done with Hermione Granger?"

She giggled helplessly and leaned against him. "I'm years ahead of the rest of them, anyway."

Their conversation was interrupted by the hooting of an owl, which flew through the slightly open window and dropped a letter in Hermione's lap before settling on Severus's shoulder to preen itself.

"It's from Helena," he informed her, stroking the bird absently.

"I haven't even opened it. How on earth would you know?"

He shrugged. "I just do."

She tore it open, proving his prediction correct, and skimmed the letter briefly.

"She would like to meet with me again. Wants to discuss future arrangements with me and explain things in greater detail."

Severus nodded. "I thought that she might."

"Should I send a reply now?"

"Well, her owl certainly isn't sitting here because it likes the view," he laughed.

Hermione scowled. "You never know. Some owls could be perverts."

–––

"Well, it's done," Hermione announced to the faces that were staring expectantly at her. "Congratulations—it's your first successful brewing of the Golden Shield. All that's left for now is to bottle it and ship it off to the Order."

"And then what?" Draco drawled.

"We make more."

"I feel like I'm drowning in the stuff," Ron moaned. "I go to bed and instead of dreaming about Quidditch or girls or both of them together, I dream about potion ingredients."

"The door's right there, Weasley," Severus whispered, eyes glittering. "Get out while you can."

The red-haired boy blinked in surprise. "That wasn't what I meant."

"I know," he replied coolly. "I wasn't sure if you did." Severus stood up, standing beside Hermione. "The two of us will be taking the Shield to London tomorrow. I've all ready owled Mrs Weasley to let her know that we're coming. The rest of you will be responsible for preparing the ingredients for our next brewing."

"Were you planning on telling us this anytime soon?" Ginny snapped, fidgeting anxiously.

"We're telling you now," Hermione replied calmly.

Neville raised his hand cautiously.

"This isn't a classroom," she reminded him.

"Is it all right if I go?" he asked. "Professor Sprout wanted to show me something in the greenhouse and I just thought that…"

"Yeah, that's it."

Everyone stood up, Harry following Ginny like a lost puppy. Hermione followed them out, holding Ginny back in the corridor and leading her in the opposite direction.

"Is everything all right?" she inquired, looking concerned.

Ginny scowled, rolling her eyes. "Never been better. Why?"

"You sure as hell don't look okay. You're all pale and twitchy."

"She's perfectly fine," Harry broke in, studying Hermione endearingly.

"I wasn't asking—Merlin, Ginny, don't make him do that."

"Sorry. It's just so… Never mind."

Hermione shook her head. "Are you sure nothing's wrong? I mean, the whole wolf thing and now Harry—it isn't getting to you, is it?"

"Of course not," Ginny snarled, more defensive than necessary. "The only thing getting to me is stupid questions about people who seem to think they know what's good for me."

The other girl blinked. "I'm sorry. I just thought I'd check."

"I don't need anyone checking up on me. I haven't done anything wrong! Unlike some people here, I'm not screwing my teacher."

Hermione's hand lashed out before she could even consider stopping it, leaving a red welt across Ginny's face. The redhead laughed coldly and hit her back, sending her reeling.

"Don't talk about what you don't know," Hermione replied coolly, fingering her wand while keeping the urge to hex Ginny into oblivion in check.

"Screwing?" Ginny asked lazily. "Reckon I could give you a few pointers there."

Hermione met her gaze without flinching, then turned and walked away. "I guess this answers my question."

–––

"Severus, she's out of control. It wasn't just yesterday—did you see her at breakfast? We have no idea what she's going to do next."

"Relax," he told her, putting the cap on the last vial of the potion. "It was just one outburst. She's adjusting."

"She's had months to adjust—"

"And what do you suggest we do about it?" he snapped. "We'll talk to Molly during our visit and express our concerns—don't think I haven't noticed anything either—but until she harms another person, there's nothing we can do."

"What if she hurts herself?" Hermione objected. "How will we know, let alone stop her?"

Severus sighed heavily. "I don't know. Callous as it sounds, however, we have larger issues to worry about and must trust that her instincts will cause her to seek help when—_if—_she needs it."

Nodding reluctantly, Hermione finished packing away the Golden Shield and headed towards the fireplace. "Do you think we have enough? Should we take some of what we have stored away, just in case?"

He shook his head. "What we have will suffice."

She shrugged. "If you say so." Taking a handful of Floo Powder, she tossed it in the fireplace. "Twelve Grimmauld Place."

–––

"I don't see why everyone's suddenly so concerned with my well-being."

"I'm your brother, Gin. I'm always concerned!"

"So, months after the fact, you're suddenly interested in why Malfoy and I broke it off? Seems more like idle curiosity to me. And, for the record, I seem to be the one who's stayed pulled together."

Ron moaned. "Fine, I'll drop it." Opening the door to the potions lab, he added, "We need to get started on ingredients anyway, and I don't want to be stuck in a room for hours with a sister who's pissed at me. Where's Harry, by the way?"

"In the library, doing his homework like a good boy."

He snorted. "And that's inconspicuous _how_?"

Her reply was simply to freeze in mid-shrug. "There's someone here," she stated, repressing the urge to sniff—barely.

"Please tell me that's not some leftover wolf thing." Ron shuddered.

Disgusted, she replied, "The wards were down. Anyone with half a brain would have noticed."

"Where are they?" he asked tentatively.

"Give me a second."

They stood in silence for a moment, heads cocked in an attempt to listen. Ginny sharpened her hearing, shifting through the noise of Ron's panicked breathing until she found what she was looking for.

"In the storeroom," she muttered finally. "Come on."

They crept across the room, wands out, freezing simultaneously on either side of the doorway. She counted to three on her fingers and they burst through, screaming out the first hex that came to mind. A shield went up, absorbing the spells before they could do any damage, leaving three redheads facing each other, all looking more than slightly stunned.

"Percy?" Ron croaked. "What the hell are you doing?"

The older boy pocketed his wand, blinking rapidly and adjusting his glasses.

"I'm sorry—I didn't—I mean, Dumbledore told me that I would be able to find you here," he stuttered. "I need to talk to Mum and Dad. I think I've made a mistake."

After fighting shock momentarily, Ginny's face crumbled and she threw her arms around her brother, forcing tears into her eyes. "Percy! You have no idea how much we've missed you."

–––

"It deflects the Killing Curse?" Arthur Weasley asked. "You're not joking?"

Hermione shrugged. "Would I lie about something like this?"

"Of course not," Molly cut in. "This is the miracle we've all been hoping for and thank Merlin that it's finally come."

"Drink it now," Severus ordered. "Everyone that's in the house. Distribute the rest to everyone else that you can. We'll make more, but for now keep it inside the Order."

"What about Agrippa?" Lupin asked, appearing at the entrance to the kitchen, where the four were conferring.

"My mum's here?" Hermione asked, shocked. It hadn't occurred to her that their house would still be considered unsafe. Of course, considering the fact that she had been attacked…

"Of course I am, darling."

The woman appeared behind Remus, resting a hand on his arm.

"Don't worry about me. It's more important that everyone else gets some."

"No," Arthur broke in. "There's enough."

"Of course there is," Molly admonished. "Now, won't you two have something to eat? You must be starving."

Hermione and Severus shared an uncomfortable glance. "We really should get back," she commented.

He nodded decisively, but was cut off by Agrippa's sharp voice.

"Nonsense, Hermione. I haven't seen you since summer holidays and probably won't until Christmas again. What can possibly be so important on a Sunday afternoon?"

Another look at one another, and Hermione coughed delicately. "Good point, Mum. We should catch up while we have the chance."

"So you're staying for dinner, then?" Mrs Weasley clarified. "Wonderful."

–––

"Sit down," Ron offered, then realised that standing was almost preferable to the hard stools.

"Thanks," Percy said, prying Ginny off of him and lowering himself.

"Care to tell us why you're here?" Ron rephrased his earlier question, more politely this time.

Percy rested his head in his hands. "I need to talk to Mum and Dad. I don't know if they want to talk to me, but…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny broke in, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You have no idea what you're being gone has done to them."

He shook his head. "You have no idea what I've done…"

"Whatever it is, they'll forgive you," Ron assured him.

The other boy's face was a mask of desperate hope. "How can you be sure?"

"Dammit, Perce, they'd do almost anything to get you back!" Ron burst out. "If you need to talk to them so bloody badly, then just do it."

"Ron, you're not helping," Ginny chastised, patting Percy comfortingly on the shoulder. "He's going through a difficult time---"

Ron shot her a sharp glance, working out the underlying message in the words. "Of course," he apologized.

The two younger siblings listened for close to an hour as their brother became increasingly agitated, switching frequently between remorse and desperation. Finally, they convinced him to leave, sending final words of encouragement out the door of the potions lab. As it closed behind him, Ron sprinted to the storeroom, searching through the vials frantically.

"It's gone!" he called out frantically. "All of it."

"Of course it is, you idiot," Ginny snapped, joining him. "What did you expect?"

"We're with the Ministry now," Ron moaned closing his eyes. "Why did they send him?"

"He doesn't work for the Ministry anymore," the girl reminded him. "Remember the lay-offs last year? After news of Voldemort's return sent everyone running?"

"We've got to stop him!" Ron barked out, heading for the door.

Ginny's expression twisted into a cool smirk. "I wouldn't worry," she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a wand that definitely wasn't hers. "He won't get very far without this."

"You're a fucking genius."

"Against all genetic odds," she replied wryly. "I'm going after him."

"Not alone," Ron objected.

"Yes, alone. You won't be able to keep up. Send an owl to Hermione and Snape and tell them to get back here as fast as they can."

–––

An awkward pause. "How has school been?"

"Fine."

Another, followed with, "And everything's all right with your friends?"

"Yes."

"What about you? Are you all right?"

"Of course."

"You'd let me know if something was wrong?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "Yes."

The words volleyed quickly across the living room, as if hit by an invisible tennis racket, and both Hermione and Agrippa shifted uncomfortably. She studied her daughter, feeling a jolt of pain shoot through her chest as she did so. They were so far apart now that there didn't seem to be anyway to breach the gap.

"Dinner's almost ready," Hermione commented.

"Indeed."

"Maybe we should help set the table."

The two women stood uneasily and Agrippa followed her daughter into the kitchen, where they were swept up into the chatter of the rest of the Order arriving and food being passed out, military style.

–––

An owl swooped overhead bearing a piece of parchment. The wolf was as aware of that as she was of the dirt beneath her feet as she bounded through the forest, nose pressed tight to the ground, intent on her prey. Powerful muscles propelled her forward over ancient tree roots that had been exposed by wind and rain as she dodged branches, single-minded in her pursuit.

She was drawing closer. The scent of his fear was becoming more overpowering with every step and she knew that it wouldn't be long until he was cornered. There—just ahead—the crackle of dried leaves combined with terrified panting. Ten larger leaps than usual and she bowled him over, the human part of her mind cautioning her to leave him as unharmed as possible, minus a few scratches.

Remaining crouched on top of him, the wolf shifted, allowing her features to fade into those of a sixteen-year-old girl.

"Brother Dearest," she greeted Percy cheerfully, sliding his left sleeve up so the contorted tattoo was visible. "I'm calling this an arrest of sorts. Make one wrong move and I'll rip your throat out."

"You don't get it, Ginny," he wheezed, trying to sit up but finding her much stronger than he remembered. "You won't understand until he comes for you."

"Trust me; I really think that I understand perfectly. You're even more of an idiot than we all thought you were. And I thought that allying yourself with Fudge was the worst you could do. Now hand over the potion."

"But…" He faltered when her teeth became undeniably canine, plunging his hand into his pocket and procuring a small crystal vial.

"Don't pretend to be stupid, Percy. You obviously needed some brains to become Head Boy. Give me the Shield." Her grip on his arms tightened significantly.

"Haven't got it," he grunted, wincing.

"Then who does?"

She felt her reign on her temper lessen and, almost unwillingly her nails rippled into claws, then back again as she snarled. Percy swallowed hard, turning ashen.

"Flint," he gasped. "I handed it off to him at the edge of the forest. I don't know where he's gone."

"Marcus?"

"No, his cousin. Pedro."

Ginny stood, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him to his feet, swearing. She then paused, studying him contemplatively before smiling in a frighteningly chilling way. "Well, at any rate, we're one Death Eater down, with Circe knows how many to go. Guess you'll get to see Mum and Dad sooner than you had dared hope for. Although this might be the one thing they're not ready to forgive."

–––

The uproarious laughter was almost deafening, and more than once Severus found himself needing to step out of the room momentarily to relieve the headache that was forming. He had to admit that he was surprised that Hermione's mother fit so well into this group of full-blooded witches and wizards—although it was apparent that this was mainly Remus Lupin's doing.

Hermione, he noted during his brief periods in the dining room, was looking drawn as he felt and the fact that she was pushing bits of food around her plate was slightly worrisome, but he set it down to her surroundings. Besides himself, the only person with whom she seemed willing to converse was Lupin and she was doing a bit too much of that for his liking.

His thoughts of a fitting revenge were interrupted by a small ball of feathers colliding with his face that left behind an envelope as it continued whirring around the room. He tore it open and skimmed the hastily scrawled lines, feeling his breath catch.

_Percy came, potion's gone. Ginny's gone after him. Get the hell back here _now.

_Ron_

Brushing his fingers against her shoulder, he signalled to Hermione that it was time for them to leave.

A/N: I just want to say that I'm still not sure if I like Ginny/Harry bit... I pondered long and hard about this and decided that it needed to go in, even though the idea made me shudder. From an emotional perspective, this was the weirdest thing I've written, not in the least because I still sympathized with the character, even though I consider rape more or less the worst violation of someone that one can commit... Anyway, I think I felt the need to explain that to myself more than anything.


	21. 20 Confrontation

Disclaimer: So I was wondering... Is Agrippa technically my character? I mean, obviously Hermione has a mother, but does she have _this _particular mother? If so, should I be including that in the disclaimer? Another good question: does the disclaimer matter, or do I just write them because I've been doing it for years? If I ever end up publishing original fiction, will I be tempted to put a disclaimer on that as well? What is society's bloody obsession with them, anyway?

A/N: Welcome, my darlings, to the last chapter that covers the material that existed before the repost. Random piece of trivia: this was initially covered in 50+ chapters. Some of them were really freaking short chapters, in case you weren't sure. This also happened to be one of my favourites to write... So sit back, get yourself some popcorn, and prepare yourselves for some really pissed off young women speaking their minds. Oh, and drunk Lupin. That _was_ highly amusing for me.

Perfection

Chapter 20: Confrontation

"Has he said anything yet?"

Molly Weasley wrung her hands, staring anxiously at Severus's face.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Are you certain that it was just a dose of Sleeping Potion?"

A nod this time, followed quickly by a furtive glance at Hermione, who was going over notes on the far side of the room. "Go talk to your daughter," he suggested. "She's been waiting just outside all morning."

The redheaded woman nodded, schooling her expression to one that was unreadable, and bustled outside.

Once certain that she was out of earshot, Hermione commented quietly, "Are you sure we shouldn't tell her?"

Severus frowned. "A parent will go to any lengths to protect a child. If we tell her the truth, there's no telling what she might do."

She sighed. "I just feel so… I don't know—guilty, I suppose. You're certain that Percy hasn't been acting under the Imperius curse?"

"If he had, it would make things much simpler. But yes, I am sure. His actions were out of his own free will and if I had known…"

His face crumpled and he turned his back to her, but the sight of his slumped shoulders was almost worse.

"Nothing that you have done could have—"

"Yes," he cut in harshly. "I taught him for seven years. Don't tell me that in seven years there were no opportunities. And Percy hasn't been the only one. These are _children_, Hermione, and they're throwing their lives away. I remember every single one that I've taught in the last fifteen years and I can tell you the names of everyone who has made the same mistake that I did because I have watched them being tortured and killed for it. And I have yet to do something about it."

A memory came to her, unbidden, of him glaring down at her on the day before Christmas Eve last winter, telling her that he would not watch her destroy herself.

"You're wrong," she replied, and he wheeled to face her. "In fact, you've never been further away from the truth. You've made a difference to a lot of people, whether they know it or not. In fact, I don't think that there's a person in this school that can say you aren't watching their back. You _hated _Harry and look how many times you've saved his life. Look at what you did for me. If you hadn't forced me to see what I was doing, I could be dead by now. You can't save everyone, no matter what you think."

He shook his head slowly. "But the least I could do—"

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Who is that?" Hermione snarled in irritation.

He turned to face her. "Didn't you have an appointment with—"

"You mother, yes I know."

"Then you'd best go."

She nodded. "I'm not finished with you yet, though."

"Don't I know it."

–––

The library. He had always hated it—particularly Madam Pince, with her beady eyes that darted to and fro, always anxious to catch an unauthorized student slipping into the restricted section. It had struck him on the few occasions that he had bothered to venture in, that she and Filch were perfectly suited for one another, although the offspring would need to be hidden from innocent eyes at birth.

Now, however, he found it to be a convenient place to catch a decent hour's sleep—no one ever slept deeply in the Slytherin dormitories if they knew what was good for them—and a welcome escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the dungeons. Not to mention that he was no longer entirely welcome in the common room he had once ruled over.

Moaning, he rested his head on his textbook and closed his eyes, transfiguration be damned. He had barely been asleep for fifteen minutes when something began tapping him on the shoulder.

"Malfoy."

"What?" he muttered, wiping away the small puddle of drool that had formed under his mouth.

"Sleepy time's up," Blaise hissed in his ear, following it up with a blow to the head.

A hand roughly grabbed him by the neck, while someone Stunned him. He waited for the numbing sensation to come over him, but his limbs remained functional and a burst of golden light appeared momentarily, blinding the group of boys that had followed Blaise. A hush went over them momentarily as they contemplated this new development.

A scrawny fourth year only shrugged and flexed an imaginary muscle. "Guess we'll have to do it the muggle way. Fitting I suppose."

The miniature mob fell in on him and Draco felt innumerable blows striking him as he tried to roll away. A foot struck him sharply on the temple and his vision began to fade. He welcomed the blackness, sliding in and out of consciousness.

From far away he heard a roar of anger and everything froze. He didn't move from his fetal position on the floor, certain that if he so much as budged it would all resume.

"Malfoy?"

A voice. He strained to recognize it, but the edges of his mind felt fuzzy.

"Malfoy, can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes and tried blinking away the multiple faces that swam before him. "Weasley?"

Ron held up his hand. "How many fingers?"

Draco counted slowly. "Seventeen… No, wait, twelve."

"I'm taking you to the hospital wing."

"No," he objected with more strength than he thought he possessed. "I'm fine. I just need a minute…"

"You can't even—"

Draco forced himself off the ground, wiping the blood off of his nose. "Look, I'm all right. I'm standing—" He trailed off mid-sentence as the floor rushed up to meet him.

–––

"You want me to learn how to become an animagus by next June?" Hermione asked incredulously, sipping some tea from the delicate china. "Doesn't it usually take a year or so?"

"Yes, but I'm asking you to do better."

Hermione sighed and studied her hands.

"Don't you think that you can do it?" Helena asked, falsely sympathetic.

"Not really, no," she snapped.

"Then you're right. I can see now that there isn't any hope for you."

Hermione's eyes widened momentarily as she slammed her cup of tea on the saucer, splashing the milky liquid on the tablecloth. "Well, maybe I can."

"I wasn't just talking about the animagus, girl. You can't be what I need."

"And what is it that you need?" she challenged, eyes flashing.

"Someone with the mental tenacity to see this through. Someone who will fight to the end. If 'can't' isn't in a man's vocabulary, then it shouldn't be in a woman's either."

Outwardly, Hermione's expression remained fixed, but inwardly she flinched.

_Why so worried? _a tiny voice in the back of her mind taunted. _She's described you perfectly. You stick with things to the end, right to the point where they practically kill you._

Trying to keep her hands from trembling, she took another sip of tea in an attempt to stay calm. "What makes you so certain that I'm not what you need?"

The older woman chuckled.

–––

"Poor boy," Molly Weasley whispered, cleaning the cuts on his face. "You say he's been disowned?"

Severus nodded. "Late September, I believe."

"When did this happen?" Ron burst in, bewildered.

He twisted his mouth wryly and glanced at Molly.

"So you're saying that he has no home?" she clarified, chewing on her lower lip.

Another nod.

"He's coming to London with me, then."

Her announcement was greeted by two blank stares.

"But Mum, he'll be there for—" Ron protested.

"Ronald, I'm surprised at you. No, as soon as he wakes up, we'll go. He needs to recover properly and there's only a week left of school…"

Severus wisely kept his mouth shut as Molly continued to lecture her son and watched Draco as the he began coming to. By the time his eyes opened, Severus was already pressing a vial of a painkilling draught to his lips.

"Drink. It will help."

Sitting up, the blonde boy obeyed as the woman trailed off in mid-sentence to resume fussing.

–––

She shivered in the December air, stripping down and crouching as she waited for the change to take effect. It happened more quickly than usual, easing the painful thoughts that spun through her head, and, in moments, the wolf sat where a girl had once been.

Sniffing the wind, she relished her freedom and lay down, pushing at the leaves idly with a paw. It was lonely without a pack for company, but the wolf instinctively knew that she was different and they wouldn't accept her, even if she could find them. At any rate, she felt less alone here than she did with the people in the castle, where they pretended to understand.

Here, at least, she felt connected to the world. She was a part of events, she had a defined role. She was allowed to simply exist in a way that none of them could ever know. And it was only because a part of the wolf was still human that she was able to truly recognize this gift that she had been granted.

She remained in that position for a long time, enjoying the barrage of smells and sounds that tugged at her, begging her to come and investigate them as she put off the moment when she would have to change. It was only when the sun began setting that she forced the human to overtake the wolf and donned her clothes so that she would be able to return.

–––

"Why did you let Mum take Malfoy?" Ron asked, glaring at Severus. "He's going to drive her insane, especially since she's already worried about Percy."

The older man sat down and pulled out the stack of marking he had been putting off since September with a sigh. "Draco is precisely the distraction that she needs right now. Molly is the sort of woman who needs to keep busy when she is upset and he will provide that for her. I will be the first to admit that she is remarkably strong, but I do not feel that she is yet ready to confront your brother's betrayal."

"So you're using him to create an illusion for her?" Ron argued. "How is that any better? She'll still have to face up to it eventually."

Severus skimmed through an essay disinterestedly and shrugged. "You misunderstand me. She needs to know that she can still be a mother, even though one of her children has made a drastic mistake. I don't believe that you realise her despair right now."

"But she's my—"

"Precisely. Now, if your arguments have all been made, I have tolerated your presence for long enough."

"But—"

"_Out._"

Rolling his eyes—a gesture that Severus chose to ignore—the redhead slammed furiously out of the dungeons, leaving him to thoughts that he wished could be brushed aside so easily. By the time Hermione came in, well after sundown, his head was pounding and he had reached a state of near panic. After much coaxing, she convinced him to go to bed and lay down beside him, falling asleep almost instantly.

He, however, stayed awake nearly all night, clinging to the woman next to him as if she was his last tie to sanity.

–––

The Christmas holidays had snuck up upon them without anyone noticing. The day before they arrived, all of those who had spent the last few months working on the Shield were packing frantically, including Severus. Hermione had convinced him he needed the rest that could only come with a change of scenery so he was about to spend a second Christmas away from the school, once again in London.

This year, however, he found himself feeling a slight degree of anticipation, although he would never admit it to anyone else. He had accidentally uncovered the package of flavoured coffee Hermione had sent him and all the memories of the past year came flooding back, creating a sense of wonder at how much things could change—how much _he _could change—in such a short time.

Opening his wardrobe with an absentminded flick of the wrist, clothes began flying into his trunk, all chosen at random. His disregard for what he wore, it appeared, remained the same. It took little more than a few minutes and he was free to complete the far less menial task of selecting his reading material for the next few weeks. Halfway through, he was interrupted by the door opening.

"You'll never guess what I found in the bottom of my trunk," Hermione announced, stepping in without waiting for his invitation.

He turned around to see her holding a vaguely familiar salt shaker and laughed.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" she commented, a little sadly, approaching the bookshelf and running her fingers over the spines.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in. "Indeed it does."

She sighed. "I only wish…" She let herself trail off.

"Wish what?"

Shaking her head, she replied, "Never mind. All in all, I'd say it's been a pretty good year."

He twined a strand of her hair around his index finger carefully. "I would tend to agree."

–––

Draco stretched in bed before propping himself up on a pillow. He had one more day to spend alone in this strange house, where people came and went erratically yet all seemed to be welcomed like they belonged to one large, eccentric family. Then, he knew, life would go back to what it always had been and the odd acceptance he had been greeted with would gradually dissipate until he was standing on the outside, peering through the window.

"Would you like something dear?"

Mrs. Weasley bustled in, pulling the curtains away from the window and letting the sunlight in. In the last week he had learned that the woman he had once scorned was made of more than he thought, feeding all the mouths that wandered into her kitchen without batting an eye, all while coddling and scolding him in turns. Some of the dodgiest characters he had ever seen, including those his father had been known to associate with from time, had come through and she had treated them with the same courtesy that had been extended to prominent Ministry members. Not once had she so much as remarked on his parentage or questioned the physical condition that he was in.

He shook his head, reminding himself once again that this wasn't and could never be his home. Swallowing, he pulled out his rusty manners and asked, "Did you need help with anything?"

She laughed. "Of course not. You just rest. You'll be well enough to put to use soon enough—enjoy this."

Smiling, he lay back down and pulled the blankets up around his chin, finding that an odd, soft part of him wished this woman could have been _his _mother.

–––

"No, don't put that—"

"What are you doing? That was my foot!"

"Mum!"

"Darling, I haven't seen you in such a long time, how have—"

"What's he doing here—"

"Watch out for the—"

"Dammit! Sorry, Mum—"

"Ginny, watch your—"

"Don't drop the—"

Hermione was squashed between several people that had piled into the foyer around her and dangerously close to collapsing, taking them all with her.

Her mother was attempting to hug her and take her luggage at the same time, which resulted in either Fred or George—she still couldn't tell them apart—being whacked in the groin. Draco hovered uncertainly, slightly away from everyone else, wearing an expression of wry amusement as people continued to trip over one another. It was Harry that finally lost it—by now they had all grown used to Ginny acting through him—and shoved his way through, creating a path for the redhead to follow, much to the peril of several items of furniture.

Pulling herself free from the mass of limbs, Hermione bolted upstairs, leaving her trunk for someone else to deal with and shut herself in the bathroom, collapsing against the door.

_I promise to be good for the rest of my life if I survive this,_ she thought as a strange feeling of claustrophobia overtook her.

Familiar footsteps gradually made their way up the stairs and, seconds later, a knock sounded on the door.

"Hermione? Are you all right?"

She shifted so that she was no longer leaning against the door and opened it.

"Something tells me this will be worse than the time my great-aunt hosted a family gathering when I was eight and someone let my grandmother drink a bottle of vodka," she moaned, eliciting a chuckle from him. In protest, she added, "It's not funny when you have to watch a seventy-five year-old woman table-dance."

"No, I can imagine… It would be like Minerva—"

He broke off mid-sentence with a shudder.

–––

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Remus muttered, shooting back another glass of punch.

"Smile," Agrippa advised. "Almost every woman in the room has asked me where I found you."

He snorted derisively. "And what good does that do me?"

She laughed. "My apologies. Sometimes I forget."

Remus resumed the punch consumption as she glanced around the room, idly amused by the chaos of drunken co-workers. Near the entrance, an intern  
and his fiancée were being greeted by Thom Richter, who was quite obviously looking down the girl's dress while his wife looked on, growing more irritated by the second. Both the intern and the girl were clearly angered by his lack of tact as he leered even closer in, until she snapped something and dragged her date away.

"Looks like a happy marriage," Remus commented to Agrippa, following her gaze to where and argument had now broken out between Thom and his wife.

"I would know," she replied dryly. "He's so much like Steve it makes me ill."

"Men are bastards, I know."

"Excluding the present company."

Remus took another sip and smiled bitterly. "I wouldn't even say that."

–––

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Severus didn't reply, only continued to nuzzle her neck.

"I mean, I understand that you're male and you have needs, but anyone could walk—"

He silenced her, then led her to his bed, sliding off her shirt in the process.

"You changed into that skirt on purpose, didn't you?" he growled.

Inwardly, she smiled smugly—he _had_ noticed. She had bought the skirt a couple of years before, not realising just how short it was until she showed it to her parents. Naturally, she had promptly been forbidden to ever wear it in public although she refused to return it.

"Maybe," she replied shiftily as he removed the offending clothing article. He was about halfway through this task when a startled yelp interrupted.  
Scrambling, Hermione fixed her skirt and crossed her arms as Severus rolled away, looking every bit as panicked as she felt.

"Herm… Prof… Sick bastard… Shit—"

Ron seemed to be incapable of forming words as he stood in the doorway, so Hermione took the opportunity to jump in.

"Look, it's not what you think—" she tried, but all he did was turn his back on them. A moment later they discovered that the power of speech had returned to him because a single word was echoing throughout the house.

"_Mom!_"

–––

The next three hours would prove to be the longest of Hermione's life. Mrs. Weasley, although thoroughly disapproving, had decided to wait for Agrippa's return before saying anything. The only action she had taken had been to march both her and Severus into the drawing room and sit them down as far away from each other as possible. She almost found herself wishing that Ron would come down and start asking irritating questions, but as soon his mother had taken over, he had sprinted away as quickly as possible and was no doubt huddled in a corner somewhere, whimpering whilst rocking back and forth.

"Dinner was lovely tonight," she tried brightly, hoping that Mrs. Weasley would stop glaring, then winced. "No, I mean it. It was really… great…"

She barely restrained the urge to laugh at the expression Severus was wearing—a mixture between horror and amusement that, when combined on his features, was only slightly comical.

The older woman, however, didn't appear to quite share her sense of humour and remained silent, chaperoning lest they felt the urge to fornicate on the couch.

–––

"_Africa,_" Agrippa emphasized, leading a stumbling Remus into the house. "Elephants and the savannah…"

"Also diseases and bloodthirsty lions and civil wars," he slurred, letting out a giggle. "You're drunk. If you could think straight then you would realise what a silly—whoops!"

She caught him as he lost his footing. "I'm not the one who drank the entire bowl of punch," she commented.

"I couldn't help it. If a server that sexy kept—" He paused and smiled at Molly, whose expression was less than forgiving. "Good evening, madam. My name is Fernando and I will be your chauffeur…"

He trailed off when he noticed he was the only one laughing. "I'll just go to bed, then," he growled. "Happy Christmas to all of you too."

Molly watched him trip past her, then turned to the more sober woman in front of her. "Agrippa, as much as I hate to inform at this particular time, your daughter was caught in a rather compromising position…"

–––

"_You were having _sex_ with your teacher_?"

Hermione glared up at her mother from her perch on the edge of the bed, wishing that she could stop pacing.

"Yes, Mum. We established that ten minutes ago."

"Don't get smart with me young lady. Don't you understand how serious this is? I would have thought that you, of all people would have better judgment! You're underage—there's no way a man that old should even be looking at you."

"I'm not, Mum."

"Not what?"

"Underage. I'm seventeen. Legally, I'm an adult."

Agrippa's jaw nearly hit the floor. "When did that happen?"

"A few months ago," she snapped. "So apart from whatever gag reflex it instills in you, there's nothing wrong with it."

"It isn't healthy. You may think that you know what you're getting yourself into, but what happens when one morning he wakes up and he realises that you are just a child? Or you wake up to see an old man?"

"I don't expect it to last forever, Mum," Hermione whispered. "I know it won't. I'm leaving the country at the end of the school year for God knows how long and I doubt that whatever it is that we have is going to survive."

"You're doing _what_?" her mother hissed, immediately forgetting the subject at hand. "What about a university education? You know that if you put it off, you'll never get it and I don't see what the point in studying abroad is. You told me all about the magical schooling you can have without leaving—"

"But I need to leave," she argued, trying to maintain her calm, but feeling her hands shake all the same. "You don't understand what this place, what the atmosphere in this city has done to me. This world that I live in. What _you've_ done to me."

For a moment, the accusation hung between them and time seemed to freeze as Agrippa stared at her daughter. Then, the inevitable happened and the older woman snapped.

"How can you say that? I protected you. I was the only thing that stood between you and a broken home. If it wasn't because I cared, then your father would have been out on his arse years ago. You have no idea what I suffered while you were away having your little adventures at school. I hated him. I _hated_ him—God, you have no idea how much. And I was holding on because I couldn't bear the thought of—"

"You couldn't bear the thought of being alone," Hermione said coldly. "Don't try to be a martyr. It never works. You'll kill yourself trying to believe that you're helping and the second you think everything's under control, it'll all come caving in. You didn't protect me. You exploited me. You tried to make me into what you wished you could be and the worst part of it is that I was too stupid to realise what it was doing to me. Severus saved my life. I doubt that it was what he wanted to do at the time and I sure as hell didn't want it, but it happened."

Agrippa's only reply was to stare disbelievingly at her daughter.

"You thought you could hide everything that was wrong with your life from me," Hermione continued, barely pausing to breathe, "but I was smarter than you thought. Did you think I couldn't hear you arguing when I was in my room? The walls weren't that thick. And then, when you wouldn't talk about it or I was shoved in the middle of one of your fights, I thought it was my fault. I convinced myself that if I could be your perfect daughter, it would all stop. I would stay up until well after midnight working on assignments that took other people half and hour to complete. I could get a perfectly decent mark, but unless it was _perfect_ I knew it would never be good enough. Sometimes it's still not. I'm never going to be enough for you. You demand perfection—you always have—and I managed to convince myself that it was what I wanted too. _Perfection_." She spat out the last word with a vehemence that she hadn't realised existed within her and that, once unleashed, she doubted her control over.

Agrippa opened her mouth to protest, but Hermione silenced her.

"It's time for show and tell," she snapped. "And right now I'm doing the showing." Ripping her shirt off, she exposed her ribcage, relishing her mother's slight flinch. "How many bones can you see? Count them. _This_ is what happens when you try to change yourself for others. You can't tell me that what you did was for me. If it was, you would have seen this sooner. And you would have stopped it. Not even my friends realised, though. It took a complete stranger to save me and there's no way in hell I'm ever going to let you hang me on that particular crucifix again."

The older woman's cold expression broke as she crumpled on the bed, sobbing mutely.

"You know what the really stupid thing is? And when I say stupid, I mean stupider than the rest," she continued obliviously, gaining momentum. "I can't let go of it. It's been a year now and every day I have to live with the knowledge of what I've done to myself because if I block it out of my mind, I'll only go backwards. And if there's one thing that this has taught me, it's that I don't want to go there again because I want to live. I didn't realise it fully until the moment that the school nurse told me what was wrong with me, but I want to live and I want to live _my_ life. Not yours, not Dad's, and that's why you should trust me when I tell you that Severus isn't just fucking with me because I'm not living his life either."

She broke off, finally bothering to look at the pitiful figure rocking back and forth, and as she did so, the incoherent fury of moments before evaporated. She remembered in an instant the fragility on the night after she had learned of her condition, when all resolve to tell her had evaporated. It was easy to forget that the cool confidence of Agrippa Granger, PhD and the pained, delicate creature formerly known as Mummy were the same woman. Hermione knelt down and wrapped her arms around Agrippa, letting out all the wracking sobs that she had been holding in.

"Oh my God," Agrippa whispered into her daughter's hair, crushing her with the embrace. "Oh my God."

For an instant, Hermione was five again, falling off her bike and tasting the salt of tears, in a way that she never had before.

"You are perfect," her mother hissed fiercely. "You've never been anything but."

Hermione pulled away briefly. "No, I'm not," she murmured back, wiping her eyes. "But I don't need to be anymore."

In the hallway, Molly Weasley blew her nose and shuffled away to make a cup of tea.

–––

It was well past midnight when Draco finally located her, huddled in an upstairs room with silent tears streaming down her face. He wasn't sure why she was crying, but he wasn't sure that her reaction would be comforting if he asked.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she barked, but the usual venom was replaced with—what?

"Very convincing, Weasley."

He sat down beside her and leaned against the wall, not saying anything more as echoes of Hermione's volcanic eruption reached them and reverberated throughout the otherwise still house.

"How do you reckon Granger versus Granger is turning out?" she asked finally, wiping her eyes and making an attempt to smile.

"I'd say that Hermione is kicking some serious arse," he asserted. "When I walked by, she was shrieking something about crucifixes and martyrdom, so I'd say her mum doesn't have a chance."

Ginny snorted with laughter before asking, "Are we actually having a civilized conversation?"

"I believe so. Please don't break it by throwing the furniture. I'm still in recovery."

"Oh, cut it out. You're no more fragile now than you usually are," she snorted. "And this—it doesn't mean I like you or anything, so don't let it go to your head."

"Well, as long as we're behaving reasonably, I want to apologize. I haven't done it properly yet.

"Don't." The redhead stiffened visibly. "It can't change what happened."

Sighing heavily, he replied, "Do you think I haven't realised it yet? I know what you think of me, and I know that you're right, but at the same time I'm starting to think it was worth it."

"_Worth it_?" she snarled, making a motion to stand. "I don't know what your idea of an apology is, Malfoy, but somewhere in there should be regret."

"Believe me, there is. But—" He broke off, choking on his words.

"But what?"

"If I hadn't done any of that, I would never have known you at all."

"Your point being?"

"That's it. That's my apology."

This time Ginny actually stood up, cheeks flaming. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish with this, but it's not working. Maybe you missed this part, but we're over. _Done._ There's nothing worse than a lie, and your lies are even more poisonous than the rest of them, so why don't you just go fuck off."

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall and let her storm away.

–––

That night, she dreamed again. She was back in the same room with the same man, only this time he felt stronger, more powerful than he had before.

"Miss Weasley," he greeted her, still polite, still mockingly sympathetic. "Have you thought on my offer?"

"Not really," she replied coolly. "Been a bit busy, what with tracking down my bastard of a brother and all. Hope it's not too much of an inconvenience."

"Ah, yes, how is dear Percy? He was always a bit too ambitious for his own good. Pity, though, I suppose it will be death for him no matter who wins the war. Mind, your side seems to find traitors useful. Take Severus, for example. Brilliant mind, but no loyalty, no _integrity_. What use do I have for a man like that?"

"Do you ever stop?" Ginny laughed incredulously. "Merlin, even when I was talking to you through _my_ diary, you wouldn't shut up."

He froze for a minute, more than slightly surprised by her flippant tone.

"What's the matter, Tom?" she mocked. "Upset that I'm not scared of you anymore? I stopped checking under the bed for monsters years ago and do you want to know why? Because they don't exist. And because you're nothing but a sad, pathetic excuse for a man."

His fine features dissolved, falling into a face contorted with fury. "And you, my dear, are nothing more than a useless, stupid chit. Because when the time comes for me to claim, you will regret having said that."

"What time?" she asked before realising it was too late because she was already awake. And with her awakening, she knew what she had to do.

–––

The first thing that Agrippa thought of when she awoke the next morning was not her daughter having an affair with a man twice her age, nor was it her daughter's confessions the night before. She thought of Africa, with its wide, vast deserts, the Serengeti, the jungles. She thought of Jeanine Howard's proposal the night before.

_ I'm heading an aid mission into Africa in a couple of months. You always were obsessed with travelling, so I thought I'd ask you since our head dentist had to cancel._

So she'd be the second thought. But somehow that didn't matter. Even in her half-intoxicated state, she had known what the answer would be—yes, a thousand times over. Never mind anything else.

Then all of last night's events came flooding back and she felt guilty. Guilty for not thinking first of her daughter, guilty for what she had watched her do to herself without seeing. Because Hermione was right to blame her. She was the parent, she was supposed to be the support, the light, the advice and, instead, she had refused to really see. And now she had nearly forgotten.

For Africa.

–––

Albus Dumbledore paced in his study, feeling the first waves of panic hit him. Minerva watched expectantly, as if hoping that he would walk back and forth enough times and the answer would come. Filibus Flitwick only stared at the ground, twitching every so often and reaching for his wand, as if to find reassurance.

"Where's Hagrid?" the wizened man finally asked, ceasing to pace for a brief period.

"I couldn't find him," Filius replied. Albus resumed pacing. Silence. Finally, Minerva tentatively made a suggestion.

"What about Percy Weasley? Maybe he has some idea of what's about to happen."

"What's already happening, you mean," corrected the Headmaster. "And once events begin, there's very little you can do to stop them from happening."

"The Order?" Flitwick squeaked.

"No use," Albus sighed. "Nothing or no one can leave the castle."

"Well then," Minerva said, standing up, "we'll have to protect the students obviously. And we need to interrogate Weasley again. Then we'll have to do our best with what we have."

"Have the students been given any of the Golden Shield?"

Both the headmaster and his deputy stared at the tiny man before them.

"Merlin," the woman breathed. "We didn't think of that."

"There's none left," Albus reminded her gently. "I'm afraid that Percy took the last of it."


	22. 21 These Crumbling Walls

Disclaimer: The usual spiel. Harry Potter belongs to JKR, Spock belongs to Gene Roddenberry, and the world belongs to whichever deity isn't currently pissing me off...

A/N: Like, I said, this is the first new chapter I wrote for this fic after beginning the repost. I quite like it, although there may be some disparity between this chapter and the one that came before it, as they were written nearly six months apart; there was a lot of editing in those months and not much new stuff (except for occaisional pockets within an already existing chapter). Hope you like it.

Perfection

Chapter 21: These Crumbling Walls

The dim light of wands flickered in the chamber, buried deep in the underground labyrinth of Hogwarts that had been kept so secret not even the Weasley twins had found it. Hushed whispers were the only things to be heard from the two-dozen odd students crammed in with the teachers and as many house elves as they could find.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh and allowed himself to send a prayer to whatever deity was in control. Even he realized that the situation was beyond them now.

–––

Hermione rolled out of bed, giving Severus a quick peck on the cheek as she did so. He shifted slightly and she smiled, carefully smoothing a crease that was etched into his forehead. He looked less tense than she had seen him in weeks, making the tense lines softer and reminding her that he was younger than even _she _sometimes remembered. Humming softly, she wrapped his bathrobe around her—it wasn't as though he ever wore it—and headed downstairs, surprised at the relief she felt towards no longer having to be secretive.

When she entered the kitchen, Ron was the only one there, buttering himself a scone. He flushed a deep scarlet and turned away, but not before Hermione noticed.

Emitting a sigh, she said, "I'm not mad."

Her only reply was a grunt, which she opted to take as encouragement to continue.

"Look, I realise that this must be horribly uncomfortable for you. And probably more than slightly disturbing… I'm not denying that we have a May-December romance going on—"

"May-December?" he broke in, wheeling. "Try May-Ming Dynasty! He's our _teacher_; do you know how awkward that makes it? I don't want to be sitting in Potions knowing that you know his boxers have little pink hearts on them!"

"Actually, they're all black silk," she corrected before pausing. "That was what you didn't want to know, wasn't it?"

"Great, now I can add that to the mental picture!"

"There were no boxers before?"

"No—Yes—That's not the point!"

"What _is _the point, Ronald?" she asked coldly. "He hasn't seduced me against my will, if that's what you're thinking. No lust potion, no coercion. We were friends long before anything else happened and we still are. He knows way more about me than you ever will, because he bothered to ask and if you don't like that, fine. I'm not asking you to. I don't really care."

His only response was to turn slightly green as a vague gagging sound filled her ears.

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

"That isn't your housecoat, is it?"

"No. I borrowed it."

"From Ginny?" That hopeful look was almost painful.

"No."

Severus took the opportunity to stumble in at that moment, wearing only boxers and a t-shirt from Leipzig with a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger in a white, curly wig that read, "You be Mozart… I'll be Bach!"

Yawning, he said, "Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," she replied, kissing him lightly. "We didn't wake you, did we?"

He shook his head no, apparently oblivious to Ron's look of horror.

"Sweet Merlin, they really _are _black silk!" the redhead exclaimed.

"What?" Severus asked, too bleary to catch on.

She couldn't resist. The opportunity was glittering enticingly, like forbidden fruit. "Ron here was just telling me about a dream he had about house elves and black silk…"

"_What?_"

"No!" Ron cried, sprinting from the room. "I deny it!"

"And pickles with whipping cream!" she called after him, grinning wickedly.

"Is he all right?"

"I think it's just the first step to dealing with the trauma of being caught in the act of voyeurism," she reassured Severus solemnly. "He should live."

"Really… Is that my robe?"

"Yes, and I'd give it back to you if I was wearing something underneath." Catching sight of his expression, she added innocently, "Coffee?"

He grabbed her by the wrist and began tugging her towards the stairs, eyes gleaming. "I think, my dear, that the caffeine craving can wait to be fulfilled…"

–––

Breakfast was a tense affair. Hermione was quickly learning that no detail of the argument with her mother had been kept secret from the twenty-odd people gathered around the table and, as a result, everywhere she turned, she was greeted with either derision or pity. The exception was Molly Weasley, who seemed determined to shove waffles down her throat until the laws of physics defied her, amid protests.

"No, I'm fine really," she tried weakly as another layer of syrup was poured over the already soggy food.

"Here, try some strawberries on it—they're delicious."

"I'm sure they are, but I honestly couldn't eat another bite."

Mrs. Weasley furrowed her brow and examined the girl before her critically. "You're far too thin."

Trying to mask her frustration, Hermione replied, "I've always _been _thin. Blame metabolism or bone structure or something. I appreciate the concern, but I swear that I'm not starving myself. I'm _fine_."

_Might have been nice if they'd paid attention _last _year_, she added mentally, glaring as the pitying looks intensified.

"Molly, honestly," Severus interjected. "It's only _slightly_ after the fact."

The look that she gave him was one that Hermione was positive she only reserved for Death Eaters, rapists and axe-murderers. And probably Voldemort himself, if he happened to be present. Severus let it roll off of him as easily as the horrified looks that the rest of the table was giving him.

She sighed, not wanting to let loose a minor explosion. "If I swear a blood oath not to puke any of it up, can I go?" The pleading tone in her voice was so whiny it was almost embarrassing. "And while I'm at it, I'll also swear that seven Belgian waffles is my absolute limit."

Mrs Weasley opened her mouth the protest, but Hermione cut her off, looking hopefully across the table.

"Mum, please. This is ridiculous."

Agrippa nodded her assent, just as Lupin cleared his throat and pointed at the doorway, where Charlie Weasley was standing with a confused look that nicely complimented his worn leather pants. There was a high-pitched giggle from where Tonks was sitting and he flipped an easy grin her way.

"Does someone want to tell me who died?" he asked. "You lot are only ever this quiet if it's a funeral."

Hermione pushed back her chair, not wanting to stay for the explanation. "What, you didn't get the memo?" she shot back. "Hey, who forgot to send the owl to Charlie? Hope you didn't forget to tell anyone else important… You remembered the Minister of Magic, right?"

Feeling more and more like a small child in the middle of a temper tantrum each minute, she brushed past him stormily, and her footsteps could be heard pounding up the stairs. Severus stood to follow her, but Mrs Weasley grabbed his wrist in an attempt to stop him.

Coolly, he glanced down at where she was holding him and removed her hand delicately, murmuring, for her ears only, "Don't interfere in things you don't understand."

He then swept out of the room, leaving in his wake a stunned silence.

"Explanations would be nice," Charlie commented, taking one of the recently vacated chairs and proceeding to dig into Hermione's abandoned waffles. "Good food."

–––

Draco finished combing back his hair, feeling emptier than he had in weeks. Which was odd, considering he hadn't entered into last night's conversation with any semblance of hope. A knock sounded at the door and he briefly felt a flash of hope before it fell crashing to the floor, only to be replaced with confusion.

"Come in."

His voice sounded flat even to his own ears. He didn't even bother to look over his shoulder as it clicked open, then shut again.

"Draco?"

He whirled instantly, hardly daring to believe who he was hearing. She was a vision, in faded jeans and a t-shirt that hugged her in all the right places, a dark green that perfectly accented her hair. Mascara was smudged in dark half-circles under her eyes, which were red and puffy, as though she had been crying.

"Ginny?"

She moved to the edge of his unmade bed and sat, twisting the sheets nervously. He sank down next to her and she jumped up, beginning to pace.

"I thought a lot about what you said last night—I don't think I ever actually fell properly asleep—and I wanted to apologize. Because you were right." She held up a hand to silence his protests. "Don't stop me. I don't know if I'll be able to start again. What you did was stupid, but I think you know that. It was stupid and cowardly and maybe I was just as stupid to trust you, I don't know. But after we were there, you risked your life so that I could get out and I want you to know that that _does _mean something. A lot, actually. And that before any of this, I was happy. Because of you. And I miss that—I miss _you_. I'm not going to pretend that we can start from where we left off—I don't know if we'll ever get there again—and a large part of that is my fault because I should have said this a long time ago, but I was angry. I hope you can understand that."

There was a long pause as Draco tried to sort out exactly what she was saying. "Sorry," he replied finally. "I didn't take my Brainpower Potion this morning and I don't quite follow."

She bit her lip and looked ready to cry again. "I'm saying that… I want us to start over. Be friends. If you want."

He wanted to talk—there were so many words, so many things that needed to be said, but he couldn't seem to find a way to articulate a single one. Tears were streaming down Ginny's face now and he couldn't speak, couldn't stop them.

"I can go if you want," she sobbed. "I w-won't stay."

Turning, she shuffled towards the door and, to his horror, Draco discovered that his legs weren't working either.

"No," he managed to splutter. "I mean yes. I mean, friend is good."

She made it back to the bed and he held her as the sobs turned into hysterical laughter.

–––

Despite the fact that her credit card was nearly maxed out and come her next bill she would be experiencing strong pangs of regret, for the moment Agrippa was feeling immensely satisfied.

"Have I ever mentioned how I _loathe _Christmas Eve shoppers?" Remus asked, glancing over his shoulder at the mountain of shopping bags in the back seat.

"If I wanted the bodyguard's opinion, I would have asked for it," she shot back.

His laugh broke off into a gasp as she swerved to avoid a pedestrian. "You're a fucking scary driver, did you know that?"

She grinned at him. "And now you're going to tell me that instead of me driving, we could have done your little magical disappearing act that makes me queasy."

He grumbled. "Change the topic please."

She giggled. "Gladly. So what about that delectable piece of man that turned up yesterday?"

"Charlie Weasley?"

"Oh, he has a name? I was too busy with the leather pants to notice."

Remus shrugged.

"Don't tell me you didn't stare even a little bit… If I was a _straight _man, it would have done nothing to stem the drool."

"I didn't really notice. The effect wears off, I guess."

She snorted with laughter. "I could have buttered him and eaten him alive, that's how delicious he is… Didn't notice, my arse."

"Well, he can be your crumpet, then," he remarked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Agrippa barked. "He's not a crumpet. He's a croissant or maybe an éclair. Possibly one of those pastries with the sugary filling. And I'm much too old for him—you're definitely closer."

He rolled his eyes and gave an impatient sigh. "You're conniving," he half-complained dryly. "I can tell. And it's in your best interest to know that I'm really not looking."

"We're easily discouraged from the pursuit of love, aren't we?" She lowered her voice and began to sing, "_My one love affair didn't go anywhere…"_

Remus glared. "Piss off."

"Happy Christmas to you too."

–––

There was something familiar and comforting about the morning before anyone else had awoken, Severus mused silently as he peered out of half-open eyes at Hermione. As if sensing his gaze, she shifted closer and a fain smile tugged at her lips. Almost inaudibly, he sighed. There was so much he wanted to say, so many words forming in his mind, but he knew that now wasn't the time.

He was beginning to fear that there would never be a right time.

He sensed a storm brewing in a way that was nearly subconscious—a lifetime of struggling had taught him to recognize when silence meant temporary truce and when it meant vigilance.

Right now, it meant vigilance.

But it was hard to feel afraid with this comforting warmth pressed against him, peacefully oblivious to everything around her. She gave him the illusion of security, the feeling that, for now at least, he was safe, which was more than anything else had ever been able to do.

Tentatively, as if afraid that any sudden movements would cause her to vanish, he snaked an arm around her waist, feeling relieved that this, at least, wasn't illusion. Her eyelids fluttered open and she grinned up into his face groggily.

"It's Christmas," she remarked with a yawn.

He smiled back. "That it is."

They settled into a comfortable silence, which was punctured only by the sounds of people beginning to move around downstairs.

"I got you something," she finally said, rolling over and reaching under the bed. "I want you to open it now."

He felt a sudden and embarrassing tug at his chest. Last year they had exchanged gifts, but that had been sudden and spontaneous. This was premeditated—he could tell by the glitzy red paper and the carefully curled ribbon. Careful not to ruin the wrapping, he opened it and stared puzzled at the box for a moment.

"Hermione, it's lovely and I don't particularly want to know what this cost you, but—"

"Don't worry," she cut him off, adding, "All the ingredients are neutral and shouldn't interfere with any potions you make."

He studied it for another moment, taking in the tasteful greys and delicate calligraphy that read, _Michel de Lavoiser pour l'Homme: Collection de Londres_.

"You got me cologne," he commented stupidly.

_Oh, _that _was smooth, _a voice at the back of his head remarked.

She bit her lip uncertainly. "I know you don't normally wear any, but I thought… If you don't like it, it's all right."

A corner of his mouth twisted upwards and he regarded her for a moment, eyes serious. "Of course I like it, you silly girl."

Her face brightened perceptibly. "Really?" Then, as if not wanting to appear eager, she added dryly, "You haven't even smelled it yet."

"It's _Lavoiser_," he remarked, "and more or less worth its weight in diamonds. Do you think I want to waste any to test it?"

Rolling her eyes, she retorted, "The whole idea of buying it was so that you would wear it, not admire the packaging."

He sighed reluctantly and finished opening it, spraying a miniscule amount at the base of his neck and sniffed the air discerningly. Hermione buried her head in his shoulder and he could feel her grin.

"I knew I had good taste."

He snorted with laughter. "In this instance, I find myself in agreement."

Yanking him down on top of her, she replied, "Oh, shut up, you irritating man."

–––

From the living room, the sounds of wrapping paper as it tore and excited bickering could be heard, making Charlie feel more than a little nostalgic as he wandered into the kitchen. Molly was still cleaning the dishes from breakfast and, mutely, he followed suit, taking up the drying end of things. For a few minutes, they worked in a companionable silence as Charlie tried to think of the best way to bring up what he wanted to discuss.

It was his mother that spoke first. "How has Romania been?"

He shrugged. "Same as always. Every once and a while we get a loose dragon that wreaks a little havoc on some unsuspecting village, but otherwise it's fairly routine. It's almost getting dull over there."

"You aren't thinking of coming home." The hope that flooded her eyes was almost painful.

He shook his head, making hair that was a little too long flop into his eyes. "No, not yet. I've been offered a transfer to Ireland, though. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to take it."

"Ireland?"

"Yeah," he replied. "We're trying to set up a habitat for displaced Welsh Greens there. I would be in charge."

Molly sighed heavily. "You know that I won't regret the day that you settle down."

"Well, it'll be a long time coming," he told her with a laugh.

"When you have children of your own, you won't find it so amusing." She caught her eyes with his and held them intensely for a moment. He felt frozen by the pain that shone through, the absolute terror. "When you don't know whether they're alive or dead from one minute to the next and all you want to do is keep them safe..."

"Mum?"

She shook his hand off of her shoulder and turned her back to him, but not quickly enough to hide the fact that she was crying.

"Mum? What's wrong?"

A sob wracked her entire body violently, sending the plate she had been holding crashing to the ground. He grabbed her soapy hands before she could try to bend over and led her to a chair, sitting down opposite her.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, trying to avoid a stutter. "Everything's wrong… They think I don't realise it. They didn't want to tell me, but how can I not? He's my son, Charlie. I know these things."

Confusion swamped him. "What are we talking about?"

She took several deep breaths before she could bring herself to answer. "Percy."

"Yeah, he's being a bit of a prick lately. Hopefully he'll grow up. What of it?"

She shook her head. "No. He's—" She choked on the words and lowered her voice. "He's a Death Eater and they've tried to tell me that he's under Imperius."

Charlie shook his head disbelievingly. "No. You've got to be wrong. He can't—no. He was always a little crazy, but he was never stupid."

Molly broke down into sobs again. "Y-y-yes. He is. I tried so hard not to believe it, but…"

He patted her hand gently, trying to disguise his numb shock. "It's okay. You know this has nothing to do with you or Dad, right?"

Her only response was to stare blankly at him.Fear gripped his chest. How was he supposed to deal with this? With her? Under her usual robust appearance was a sudden fragility that terrified him more than he would care to admit, only compounded by the fact that there was nothing he could do.

"Look, I'll make dinner," he finally said. "Go upstairs and rest for a bit. You look like you need it."

She shook her head, standing up and making a brave though not entirely successful attempt at a smile. "No. Don't worry about me—I'll be fine."

Waving her wand at the smashed porcelain on the floor, she turned back to the dishes with rigid shoulders that made Charlie want to cry as well.

–––

Wrapping paper was strewn across the floor of the sitting room, some of it hanging from the lower branches of the Christmas tree. There was still a general air of laughter hanging in the air from the handing out of presents, and Agrippa felt herself gripped by an odd, warm feeling. She was reminded of Christmases past, when it hadn't been necessary to negotiate temporary a temporary truce and holidays had been a time to look forward to rather than dread."Good haul this year," one of the red-haired twins remarked. "What do you reckon, Fred? Think we can keep setting records?"

"If not, we'll just steal some of Ginny's."

Their sister pulled a face and held out a horrible puce-coloured jumper. "Here. Take it, _please._"

Laughter erupted and Draco remarked dryly from the corner, "Oh, look, I've got one too."

The twin that she assumed was Fred responded, "The ultimate mark of Weasley acceptance. Have to like you now."

"I am an extremely likable person, Weasley," he drawled, making Ginny laugh.

"Who are you kidding?"

There was a moment's hesitation before he realised that she was teasing him. "Obviously just myself."

Feeling as though she had missed something, Agrippa turned away in time to see Hermione opening a small box while _he_—what _was_ she supposed to call  
him?—looked on intently. Her eyes widened perceptibly and she let out a low gasp.

"Oh, Merlin… Severus, you really shouldn't have spent—"

"Ridiculous. You think that I don't realise how much you spent on mine?"

"No, but…"

"Precisely. Now, price aside, what do you think?"

She pulled a delicate silver chain out of the box, revealing a small, pendant that danced with and caught the light. Fastening it around her neck, she turned to face him and smiled dazzlingly.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

Agrippa glanced away to avoid seeing them lock lips and raised an eyebrow at Remus, who was sitting next to her, following her gaze.

"I think I need a drink," she murmured.

He chuckled softly. "It's not even eleven o'clock yet."

"Don't I know it."

"Mum?"

Her head snapped up at the sound of her daughter's voice. "Yes?"

"Did you want to go on a walk?"

The suddenness of the request made Agrippa freeze momentarily. She wondered if she was ready to talk to her daughter without the buffer of numerous others around them, if she would be at all comfortable.

During the moment of silence, Hermione's face fell briefly. "It's okay if you don't," she said quickly. "I just thought…"

"I'd love to," she burst out, suddenly recognizing that her daughter was trying to lessen the distance between them. It made her wonder how many other times she had tried without response. "Just let me go change."

–––

From his sleeping bag, Neville watched. Everyone had branched off into sects, little groups, where they whispered and conferred, each group as frightened as the next. The teachers, trying to appear calm in spite of the knowledge of defeat, which had etched new lines into their faces. The Hufflepuffs, gathered around a single candle in a mute circle, hands linked and eyes closed in a way that was reminiscent of a religious ceremony. The Ravenclaws, swapping what textbooks that they had with them, referencing and cross-referencing in hopes of finding something helpful. The Slytherins, huddled against the wall, their thoughts clearly along the lines of, _This isn't supposed to be me._

And himself. Neville Longbottom. The sole basement representative of Gryffindor, except for Colin and Dennis Creevey, the latter of which was crouched in the corner whimpering as his brother tried to calm him.

Oddly enough, Neville wasn't afraid. He was going to die, whether he wanted to or not. He had accepted the fact and moved on to bigger things, like how everyone else was going to survive. He was concentrating harder than he ever had in his life, trying to come up with a solution, but the frustration was building.

He knew that this would be his downfall. Once he lost this eerie calm, once he allowed fear to overtake him he would be reduced to a condition worse than Dennis' and good for nothing. To calm himself, he began running through the alphabet, naming a plant for each letter.

_Asphodel. Belladonna. Chinese Chomping Cabbage. Datura…_

Stuck on E, he began to panic. This was the only thing he knew how to do. The only thing that made sense to him. Without it, he was nothing.

Before his chest could finish constricting, a word came to him.

_Eucalyptus._

Inhaling deeply, he relaxed. It was okay. He was back on track. He could handle this.

_Fluxweed. Gillyweed. Hellebore. Indigo spires salvia…_

–––

"I brought us food."

Ginny appeared in the doorway, holding a bowl of what smelled like popcorn.

"By the time I leave, I'll have to be rolled out the door," Draco drawled good-naturedly.

She laughed and entered his bedroom, settling cross-legged next to him on the bed. "So. You wanted to talk."

"Not really. I just wanted to escape from the lion pit," he teased. "So many Weasleys…"

Flicking him lightly, she grinned. "Careful, that's my family…"

"Darling, I know that. But you are so much more attractive."

"Shut up and have your popcorn."

Raising an eyebrow, he complied and they ate for a few minutes in silence, giving Ginny time to study him. Thinner and paler than she remembered him to be, there was a new aura hanging in the air that suggested a determination that hadn't been there previously.

_Merlin, I've missed him,_ she realised suddenly. Even in her darkest moments, she hadn't quite understood the depth of her feelings until now. _He was the only sane part of my life…_

It was Draco who spoke first. "So, how have you been?"

She snorted in reply. "Not well at all. You?"

"Bloody miserable. I'm really hoping things go up from here."

"I think it's the only direction that they can go."

They each took another handful of popcorn, chewing in unison. Ginny tried to think of the best way to phrase the question she most wanted to ask, but nothing brilliant came to mind. Finally, she opted for the painfully blunt.

"Draco," she said carefully. "Do you think I'm a monster?"

He looked at her curiously for a moment. "Just because you turn furry when the moon is full?" He paused before adding, "Or sometimes when it's not full, for that matter… Don't be ridiculous."

She closed her eyes, longing to explain, but the thought of his disgust was more than enough to keep her quiet on the subject. "So you don't—"

"I've learned to save the word for the people who truly deserve it," he cut her off, more than a touch of bitterness in his tone.

_Don't bring up Harry, _a voice in the back of her head chanted. _Don't bring up Harry. This can only go wrong._

Instead, she forced herself to smile feebly. "Thanks."

–––

"… and I really think that your coat suits you. Blue really emphasizes your features. Where did you say that you bought it, again?"

"Mum," Hermione tried for the twelfth time, kicking her way down the snow-covered walkway and trying not to feel guilty. "It's okay. You don't have to talk about my coat. I'm sorry that I lost it like that the other night, but I didn't mean a lot of what I said."

"Really?" Agrippa asked with poorly masked scepticism.

"Well, I did," she confessed. "But it's okay. I've had almost a year to get over it."

"I'm not sure that that's the way I would look at it, in your position."

She shook her head. "I needed to move on, so I did. It still hurts, but if I thought about it all the time, it would completely cripple me. And I probably would have starved to death months ago."

Her mother was staring at her now, with something like horror shining in her eyes. "That's not true."

Hermione stopped walking, turning to face her mother intently. "Yes. It is. I think we both know that—I know I do, anyway. We can hope that somebody would have noticed before then, but sometimes I really doubt it."

It was obvious that Agrippa was fighting tears as she leaned over and wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter. For a brief moment, Hermione took comfort in the warmth and the familiar scent of her mother's perfume, but they longer they held on, the more quickly it mutated into something forced and awkward. Hermione broke away first, trying to hide her red-rimmed eyes behind her hair.

"So," she said in a tone belying her uncertainty, "are you ever going to tell me what's going on between you and Lupin? Because the entire house seems to know something I don't."

Agrippa froze in confusion momentarily, before realizing that the tone was teasing. "I would if there was anything to tell."

"So there's nothing? You're disappointing me."

With a wry grin, she shook her head. "Even if one or both of us was interested, it's far too soon for me to be involved with anyone. I need to relearn myself first."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione laughed. "Oh, thank God. That would be a little bit _too _weird for me. But, speaking of… Have you heard from Dad lately?"

She didn't miss her mother's brief flinch at the mention of him, but kept eye contact. If her mother had any news, it was her right to know about it.

In response, Agrippa's mouth only curled into a sarcastic smile. "Not a word for five months. If you're harbouring hopes of us rekindling our romance, you would be better off to kill the notion now."

It was Hermione's turn to wince at the harsh tone that her mother spoke in. "I'm sorry," she said, chewing her lower lip. "I should have known you wouldn't… You must really hate him."

A pause, then, "I don't know. I think hate would be easy, compared whatever this is. Some days, I really couldn't care where he is or what he's doing, but others…" She breathed heavily, brushing strands of hair out of her face with hands that trembled. "Maybe I'm sick, but other days, I wake up and all I want is for him to be there."

"That's not sick," Hermione told her. "Maybe you just really used to love him. You can't forget people in a day—you can't forget anything in a day—and he was a major part of both of our lives for a long time."

"But not anymore."

"No," she agreed. "Not anymore."

They walked for a few minutes in silence and Hermione began to remember last Christmas, realising just how many events in that stretch of days her mother had no idea about, how many of those moments had been the beginning of everything. She hid a grin at the thought of what her mother's reaction would be as to whose hotel room she had spent the night in, but to no avail.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing… I'm just thinking about how quickly things have changed…" In a sudden desire to change the mood, Hermione burst out, "Remember when Dad worked nights and we used to order in takeout—"

"—and rent movies?" Agrippa finished, with a laugh. "How could I forget?"

"You made me watch _Gone with the Wind _until I wanted to be sick."

"I told you—understanding foreign cultures is an important life skill."

Hermione groaned. "Another culture where they speak the same language, eat the same food and wear the same clothes?"

Sniffing, as if affronted, her mother replied, in the most uppity tone she could muster, "Same language? Darling, I'm insulted—they've no right to call that bastardisation 'English.'"

"Mum, both of us know you just wanted to wear a hoop skirt."

Changing tacks, she shot back, "This from the girl who wanted me to go to work forever so she could have a nanny like Mary Poppins?"

"That was different."

"Oh, really?" Agrippa arched a brow.

"Yes. She had a parrot and a magic bag and her medicine wasn't nearly as disgusting as what you tried to give me. And hoop skirts went out in, what, 1873?"

"Hermione, dear, that smirk isn't very becoming."

"I win," Hermione crowed gleefully. "Anyway, we should do that again sometime. But maybe something we both like."

"Audrey Hepburn?"

"_Breakfast at Tiffany's_?"

"I was leaning more towards _Roman Holiday_, but I can live with that."

"As soon as we can get our hands on a VCR?"

"It's a date."

The conversation lapsed, and Hermione privately enjoyed the renewed sense of closeness to her mother that she hadn't felt in years. It was different now, more tentative than she remembered it being, but she supposed that was only to be expected. Admittedly, she felt a strong pull of relief at the discovery that the bridge holding them together hadn't completely broken after all, sending planks crashing into the torrents of water below. It only needed mending and she—they—could do that eventually.

Turning to Agrippa, she noticed tears gathering in the other woman's eyes and held back the playful banter that was gathering on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she squeezed her mother's hand through their gloves and smiled reassuringly.

"It's okay," she whispered, just loud enough that words reached their destination before being ripped away. "It wasn't all bad, remember? We were happy for a long time…"

_I forgive you_, she almost said, and realised with a start that the words weren't empty and intended only for comfort.

Wiping her eyes, Agrippa pulled her in for a second hug, one that Hermione felt no desire to pull away from, and they stayed like that for a long time, letting the winter air embrace them until their feet were too cold to remain any longer.

–––

For the number of people and the amount of disagreement and general chaos that had taken place in the last few weeks, Christmas dinner was going surprisingly well, Draco mused silently, helping himself to another helping of mashed potatoes. Not to mention that the food was infinitely better than anything made by a Malfoy Family House Elf. Across the table, Ginny was shooting him amused glances as he shovelled food down his throat ravenously. He paused to take a sip of pumpkin juice and took the opportunity to smirk back.

Down the table, people broke into laughter as Lupin sent a plate of turkey flying into Mrs Weasley's lap and, almost unconsciously, he found himself joining in. It took him a few moments to realise that normally this would strike him as odd.

–––

Charlie Weasley had never liked carrots.

Nice taste, but they reminded him too much of his hair to actually eat, and years of enduring nicknames like "Carrot-head" had reinforced the notion, turning him off of them permanently. Naturally, this had caused great concern with his parents when he tried to explain why he refused to eat them, so rather than explain that consuming carrots was remarkably like swallowing a hairball he had perfected the art of sliding them into his napkin when nobody was looking. This was precisely what he was doing as Hermione's mother was trying to explain laptops to the table and his mother was making tutting noises under her breath at the notion.

He had just gotten around to planning an escape route for his napkin, when Remus, who was sitting next to him, remarked quietly, "Why put them on your plate if you don't want to eat them?"

He snorted just as softly. "Have you ever tried _not_ eating something that Molly Weasley serves you? It just doesn't work."

Remus bared his teeth in a grin. "Fair enough."

"You're welcome to them, if you want," Charlie replied. "Although getting them out of the napkin using sleight of hand could be a bit harder than dropping them into your lap."

"I'm not really a carrot person either, otherwise I'd try," he laughed. "I was always terrified that they would make me change colour."

"Well, they make me feel like I'm swallowing giant hairballs. Especially when they're raw."

Remus pulled a face. "As someone who's swallowed a fair few hairballs in his lifetime, I understand perfectly."

–––

The feeling of his mouth sliding over hers filled her abdomen with a half-falling, half-floating feeling that was compounded by the fact that they were pressed together, hands tangling in hair and trailing down skin. If Hermione kept her eyes closed, she found that it was easy to believe that this was the beginning and end of existence, that beyond the immediately tangible there was nothing but black emptiness. Momentarily overwhelmed by this, she tilted her head back, opening her eyes to remind herself of reality. His gaze caught hers, slightly confused, and the corners of her mouth curved upwards. They froze like that momentarily, until the feeling of the strap on her dress slipping down her shoulder distracted her.

"Just get rid of it."

His voice was a sleepy growl that sent delicious shivers down her spine as her grin widened.

"Not yet."

Her husky tone surprised even her—it had been far from intentional. Leading him closer to the bed, she kept her eyes locked on his, feeling a nudge somewhere in her mind. Her breath quickened in an attempt to keep breathing as realisation struck her with a force powerful enough to bowl her over. The words were hovering on the tip of her tongue, even as she knew that she wouldn't be able to say them, for more than one reason.

Completely oblivious to her inner turmoil, he closed in on her, only adding to the sensation that someone had ripped the ground from under her feet.

_Am I falling into heaven or hell? _she wondered, knowing full well that she might not like the answer.

She knew that he cared about her. That much was indisputable. But caring and loving were two entirely different things.

–––

Lying side by side but not touching, Ginny and Draco were each lost in their own world. She found herself wondering what he was thinking about, if he was glad that she had forgiven him. If he had forgiven her.

She felt closer to him than she ever had to anyone, yet at the same time it felt like there were walls and oceans between them, making the tiny gap between them on the bed feel monstrous. Wanting to close it but not knowing how, she felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes as a knot formed in her stomach.

"You know," Draco began carefully, "that you are the only person who has ever mattered to me like this."

She froze, feeling a sudden and inexplicable relief. "No, I didn't. But it's good to hear."

"Seeing you here, with your family—Ginny, there are so many people who care about you. It's hard for me to watch that because it makes me feel like I'm just one of dozens."

She rolled onto her side so that she was facing him, face pale in the moonlight. "I've never cared about anyone in the same way that I care about you. I've done crazy things in the name of you—some that I'd rather forget—but I meant what I said when I told you that I've been happier with you than any other time in my life. I mean, I love my family, but it's because they're my family. They've always been there and, on some level, I know that they always will be, but there are some places that I've been that they can't understand and I wouldn't ask them to try."

"The Chamber?" Draco asked, surprising her.

"How did you know? I never mentioned it."

He pushed a strand of hair out of his face and sighed. "It's one thing to see him, to have him talk to you. Even that's something that I'll never be able to erase from memory. But to have him inside your head, controlling you body and mind… That's more than most could handle. You've done more than handle it, but it's bound to have left some marks—did you know that you flinch whenever someone mentions it?"

"Sometimes," she whispered, voice catching, "I think he still talks to me. I have dreams about him all the time, where he's telling me things, asking me to join him, and I'm never afraid until I wake up because I'm never sure if it's real or not. And then sometimes I do things that I know are wrong, and I never know if it's because of him, or the wolf, or me."

Draco didn't reply with words. Instead, he reached across the bed, breaching the distance, and clasped her hand in his in a mute gesture of support. For the first time in months, she began to feel that things might turn out all right.

A/N: For anyone who wants to know:

The conversation between Ron and Hermione about "May-December romances" was blatantly stolen from an episode of Gilmore Girls, although I altered it slightly.

Severus' t-shirt is based on a lame joke that every music teacher I have ever had finds hilarious ("What did Arnold Schwarzenegger say when him and his friend were playing composers?" "You be Mozart, I'll be Bach!" See... lame!).

The croissant-eclair bit is a reference to Francesca Lia Block's "I Was A Teenage Fairy," which was a major inspiration for this fic and one of my all time favourite books.

The song Agrippa sings the line out of is from the movie "White Christmas." (Although it is possibly from something else originally... I'm too lazy to find out.)

What can I say? I enjoy a good pop culture reference as much as the next girl.


	23. 22 Respite

Disclaimer: To Ms Rowling—Kindly keep the HP universe. I do not wish to deal with the expectations with which it is associated.

Song is 'Duncan' by Sarah Slean, who owns all copyright. 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' is clearly not mine--if you are confused about this you may want to lock yourself in a room for a few weeks with several Audrey Hepburn movies and some rations.

Perfection

Chapter 22: Respite

_This is holy war!_

_We must fight and fight again_

_And go a thousand times for the sake of love_

_But never once in vain_

–_Duncan,_ Sarah Slean

Light was beginning to slant through the bedroom window, pulling Ginny gradually from sleep. Her left side was abnormally warm, especially considering that she was still lying on top of the blankets.

Funny, she didn't remember going to bed…

Opening her eyes fully, she became aware of Draco lying next to her, still fast asleep. In this lighting, his blond hair glittered, halo-like, on top of a too-pale face accented with dark circles under his eyes, making Ginny feel a tug at her heartstrings. She kept herself still as another wave of relief swept over her with the understanding that he was once again a part of her life.

Of course, a rather large part of her argued, he had always remained in her life. She had just chosen to try to ignore him.

–––

Setting up a television in a house that had never seen an electrical outlet was proving to be an interesting process, Hermione mused silently, watching as Arthur Weasley argued excitedly with his sons over the best way to go about installing it.

"Dad, you can just make it work with magic. You _don't_ need to have an electrical system," George was saying exasperatedly.

"Some of us call it the 'magical advantage,'" Fred added. "You can order it in packages starting at ten galleons, but if you want us to throw in a bonus trip to Zimbabwe, it's still only thirteen galleons and three sickles."

As if on cue, the twins paused and looked at each other.

"Hey, that's a good idea—"

"Maybe we should do a promotion or something…"

"I need to write this down!"

She giggled and raised her eyebrows at her mother as George sprinted from the room, overcome with marketing genius.

"Arthur, they do have a point," Molly remarked wryly.

"No, I'm going to do this properly or not at all."

A few more minutes of painful struggling ensued, before Arthur stepped away gloatingly. "Ecklectricity!" he announced, flinching away from the sparks shooting out of the wall.

"Oh, for the love of…" Molly mumbled, keeping her wand where her husband couldn't see it and turning the television on.

"Wonderful," Agrippa commented, a touch of dryness in her tone.

"The things we go through for Audrey Hepburn," her daughter responded, keeping her face straight. "Shall we watch now or save it for tonight?"

–––

Helena sat calmly inside the flat that she had rented out, listening to the echoing of chaos below her as she twirled her wand idly in her hand, adjusting the fall of burgundy robes. She didn't feel afraid—it didn't seem to be worthwhile.

She could sense the darkness that was snaking its way outwards, away from the castle, from Hogsmeade, choking off thoughts as dementors did emotions. It was so strong that if she closed her eyes it was almost visible, almost strong enough to be considered a stench. Standing, she removed the pins from her hair, letting it tumble down in silver ribbons as it released an energy that was all its own, and moved towards the door, so engrossed in the power thrumming through her veins that she didn't notice the barn owl that had swooped in, bearing a letter written in an all-too-familiar scrawl.

–––

Except for the sounds of conversation coming from the television, there was silence. Ginny sincerely doubted that this had occurred previously, given that there were nearly twenty people spread throughout the room, a high concentration of them Weasleys, but it was a nice feeling. It was as though a temporary closeness had descended the room and, although Ginny wasn't sure that she fully understood the plot of the film, there was a sort of bittersweet understanding in the air.

She shivered slightly and Draco pressed closer to her, even though they weren't even holding hands. There was more between them now than there had been before–somehow the time apart had served to consolidate what had existed rather than force them to forge something new entirely.

Across the room, she noticed that Snape was absently toying with strands of Hermione's hair, who had her back resting against his shoulder. The simple fact that this only earned a few startled glances and little else spoke volumes—although whether it was due to respect for the other girl's decisions or a resigned acceptance was difficult to say. Ginny felt a brief stab of pity for Hermione's mother—the whole situation was probably more awkward for her than anyone else—but pushed it aside and pulled her attention back to the film, where Holly Golightly was strumming a guitar on her windowsill.

–––

The constant darkness had begun to take on a pattern of day and night to Neville. Although he in all truthfulness had no idea what the time was, he liked to pretend that he could see when the was sun rising and setting in a semblance of uniformity—it was far easier than considering the option that the outside world had ceased to exist except inside of his mind. By his measure, six and a quarter days had passed since they had first descended into the underground labyrinth. Six and a quarter days of darkness.

Six and a quarter days of hell.

He had gone through the alphabet fifteen times now, reciting different plant names each time until he was nearly out of them. Those that he had not used yet, he kept coveted in his mental garden, saving them for the moment when they would be most needed.

"Do you mind if I bother you for a bit?"

The voice jerked Neville out of his reverie, although not unpleasantly, and he blinked for a moment at the tiny, pixie-like girl who was in the process of sitting down next to him.

He shook his head. "No. I should warn you, though, I'm not very interesting."

She laughed in response. "That's all right with me. I'm just getting bloody sick of textbooks."

"You're in my Herbology class, right?" he asked. "Ravenclaw?"

"Yes to both. Thank god you recognize me—I really hate explaining to people that I'm actually not twelve years old."

It was his turn to laugh as he studied her more closely and realised that she did look much younger than she was—standing, she would probably only come to his shoulder and her face was the kind that could be anywhere between ten and twenty years old. She certainly wasn't pretty by most standards, but he found himself intrigued by the contrast of black hair against white skin and oddly piercing blue eyes.

"Fun crowd?" he asked, gesturing towards the huddle of Ravenclaws who appeared to have given up on reading their books and were now using them as pillows.

"Yeah. I tried to explain that osmosis only works with water, but I think they're too desperate to care."

"What are they looking for?"

She shrugged. "What are any of us looking for? I mean, on some level, I think that they know the best way to defeat You-Know-Who isn't going to be in a NEWT text. It's just comforting, I guess, to have something there."

Like his plants. Neville nodded, understanding. "Don't you have anything like that?"

She shrugged with a bit of a dry laugh. "Not really. I have me, whatever that means, and I know that if I die—down here or up there, it really doesn't matter—it won't be because someone has taken that away from me. I'm Liv, by the way—not sure if you knew that."

He shook his head. "No, sorry. I'm not the best with names. I'm Neville."

"Yeah, I know."

There was a brief, awkward pause, before she broke it with, "So what's your plan?"

"My plan?" Neville wasn't entirely certain what she was talking about—the only idea fixed in his head at the moment was staying alive as long as humanly possible.

"Everyone's making them," she remarked, arching her eyebrows. "You know, to get out of here."

"Well, that's easy enough. Just take the stairs," came his quick reply. He had never been one for sarcasm, although he was rapidly beginning to understand its merit.

"Out of here _alive_ is the goal," she shot back, looking mildly amused. "And since you seem to be the only one down here besides me who has kept his sanity, I thought you might have some ideas."

His mouth twisted into something resembling a wry smile. "Honestly? I've been sitting here reciting plant names to myself. I don't know if most people would consider that sane."

"Well, you aren't hallucinating or vegetative yet, so it's good enough for me."

–––

Midway through the movie, Agrippa found herself feeling as though someone had dumped a cement mixer on her. It wasn't that the story had lost its power over her, or that the film wasn't quite the way she recalled it—she was rapidly discovering that it had remained exactly the same. Something, though, was unsettling.

Maybe it wasn't actually the movie itself that was having this effect on her; around her, everyone in the room seemed to be paired off--lovers, husbands, wives… It struck her that the only person in the room aside from her daughter with whom she had any real connection was Remus, a frightening thought on its own. She wasn't quite ready to consider the possibility that she would die alone, with only gay men in her life and a rather large cat collection.

Feeling fidgety, she uncoiled from her seat in an armchair and slipped behind everyone else into the hallway, where she proceeded to make her way into the kitchen. The light was visible before she entered, but there was still an element of surprise when she saw Charlie Weasley already sitting at the table, head in his hands and clearly immersed in his thoughts. Clearing her throat to give him warning, she gave him a bit of a smile and poured herself a glass of water. He jerked around to look at her, hastily wiping suspiciously red eyes.

"Is everything all right?" Agrippa sat down opposite him, cradling her glass in both hands.

He shrugged, a tad defensively. "Sure. Why not?"

Her mouth curled into a wry grin. "If you say so."

The sat in mute, awkward silence for a few minutes, before she pushed back her chair in a motion to leave. "I'm sorry. I can leave you alone if you want."

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. You're Hermione's mum, right?"

"Yes."

"She's a good kid."

Agrippa laughed. "And one who has no hesitation in reminding me that she's no longer a 'kid' and will do whatever she damn well pleases."

His face relaxed into a smile at this. "I think I'm more one her side for this one."

"Understandably."

"It takes a lot of courage to be open with your parents," he added as an afterthought.

She was about to open her mouth to agree, when Remus stepped into the room. "Sorry. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Both of them shook their heads. "Sit down," Agrippa offered.

"It's all right. I just wanted to make sure you were all right—you left a bit suddenly."

She laughed. "Kind of you to double check. Now, sit down. Please. Or do I need to go find the whiskey to convince you?"

Rolling his eyes, Remus sat down next to her. "Of the two of us, I think you have the slightly more alcoholic tendencies."

"Maybe I _should _move back here," Charlie mused. "Apparently I'm missing out."

"Because watching two middle-aged, very lonely people get hammered was high on my list of things to do on Saturday night when I was your age," Agrippa remarked dryly.

"I am _not _old enough to be considered middle-aged," Remus protested vehemently.

"Yet," she shot back vindictively. "It's only a matter of time."

"So back to that idea of whiskey," Charlie cut in. "I'm going to go find some."

"Bloody pacifist," Agrippa snarled, waiting until he was out of earshot to add, "You'll be glad to hear that he likes men."

"_What?"_

"He told me so."

Remus rolled his eyes. "If that's the case, you have a remarkable gift of forcing confessions."

"Well, I got you to tell me, Mr. Permanently-Closeted-I-Swear-I'm-Only-Bisexual-But I've-Never-Looked-At-A-Woman. At any rate, he didn't say it directly, but he would have if you hadn't barged in at the completely wrong moment."

"What wrong moment?"

Charlie's whiskey-clutching return caused both of their jaws to clench together almost instinctively. Agrippa wasn't sure exactly how much he had heard, but apparently none of it bothered him.

"Er… I'm just telling him about the time I walked in on my husband in bed with another woman." She winced inwardly. Of all the things she could have invented, she had to pick something painfully true.

"Oh… I'm sorry."

Her mouth twisted. "Well, it's been almost a year. I'm over it."

She had a brief flash of thought regarding what she would do to commemorate the one-year anniversary of throwing Steve out. Oddly enough, she doubted that she would be miserable.

–––

Hermione felt herself retreating inwardly from Severus as the movie pulled her into its conclusion. She wasn't ready for the thoughts that she knew were inevitable, wasn't ready to consider the possibility that she felt more strongly than he did. This was the kind of film where she should be able to lean into him and whisper something romantic or even just give him a kiss on the cheek. Anything, even just a subtle acknowledgement would do…

Darting a glance at him, she wished that she had kept her eyes averted. His stare was stony and focused on what was directly in front of him, emotionless and empty. It was a stare with the emptiness that had the power to erase everything that the last year had worked to achieve, leaving her a little bit afraid of him for the first time in months.

As if sensing her recoil, he shifted his hand so that it was covering hers and turned so that they were facing one another, giving her a clear view into his thoughts. Instantly, she felt ashamed at the mixture of emotions that she found there. So many things—fear, uncertainty, and several that she couldn't put a name to, but wrenched at her gut all the same.

_Say it_, a voice screamed in the back of her head but she was frozen, partly in terror and partly out of a desire to avoid him having to carry the added burden that would inevitably follow. Instead, she slid herself closer, burrowing in the crook of his arm as her head rested on his shoulder, and allowed herself to close her eyes against the startled looks that she could feel being directed at her.

–––

The gap between Christmas and New Year's passed at an alarming rate. However, to Severus, the fact that it had sped by with no contact from anyone from Hogwarts or Hogsmeade was just as frightening. His only comfort was the lack of comment from the media—surely that meant that nothing had taken place out of the ordinary.

He knew that he was procrastinating, but the delicious freedom of the holidays had taken its hold on him and, if he could have his way, he would spend the remaining two days locked in his bedroom with only Hermione for company.

Unfortunately, in spite of the large degree of forbearance on behalf of the house's other inhabitants, that was unlikely to be permitted. Rather than dwell on it, however, he moved his thoughts onward to his plans for that evening, which, among other things, first would require a shower.

–––

Ginny was lying on her bed, watching in vague amusement as Hermione fussed over her hair.

"If he doesn't mind the way it is naturally, then he definitely will appreciate what you've already done with it," she commented dryly, laughing at the glare that was shot in her direction.

"That was precisely the comforting comment I was looking for."

Truth be told, Ginny was more than glad that there was no chance Hermione would be returning to their room tonight. Happy as she was with her reunion with Draco, there were still other tensions to be dealt with, other issues taking place within her. The wolf was practically screaming to be let out, after almost two weeks of being caged, which was resulting in a screaming headache and occasional loss of control—only last night, she had awoken to find herself coated in a thin layer of fur and it had taken far more concentration that she would have liked to change herself back. Her fear that something was wrong had returned tenfold then, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to consider the problem logically until she had managed to clear her head.

The other tiny conundrum that she was being faced with was that of Harry. She had avoided questions by having him remain primarily out of sight, except for meals and other mandatory gatherings, but she was beginning to feel that her hold over the Imperius Curse was weakening, something that confused her beyond words—every time that she had removed it from Harry as a test, he had appeared to be in the same mindless state as before. The idea that her magical control was declining terrified her more than anything else and she was beginning to worry that it was linked to the wolf.

How or why, she wasn't sure and she was planning on asking Hermione, just not right now. Tonight, she decided, Hermione needed to be able to be completely happy—she knew as well as anyone else that this peaceful reprieve from fear was growing shorter by the second and worrying wasn't going to improve the situation.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to research her problem when they returned to school. Two days was a small enough sacrifice. For now, she would just have to give in to her lupine urges and hope that it would temporarily solve the problem.

–––

"Do you know what day it is?"

Liv was idly flipping through the pages of a back issue of Witch Weekly, rolling her eyes at the sex advice column as Neville doodled in the margins of her Herbology textbook.

"No," he replied. "I've lost track."

"New Year's Eve. Maybe it means something will happen."

He snorted harshly. "I'm starting to forget that there _is _a world outside of this."

"Don't," she cautioned, then announced, tossing her magazine aside, "So 'Mary O.' is clearly a man with the same knowledge of the female anatomy as any forty-five year old virginal male."

He made a neutral noise in the back of his throat.

"Not only does 'she' insist on calling a girl's period her 'moontime,' but the phrase 'inserting the man's rather engorged member into her succulent, nubile being' is a dead giveaway. It's like reading what my mother describes as literature, except much more lacking in description. Thankfully."

A violent laugh erupted suddenly from him, startling the others scattered throughout the room. Somehow, this made the situation's hilarity increase, and he had to roll onto his side to ease the stitch forming.

"I didn't think I was that funny," she remarked wryly. "And you might want to tone it down—you're frightening the children. Anyway, I honestly think we should work on figuring out a way out of here."

"We've been over this how many times in the last few days? It doesn't look like they're getting in here, but we aren't going to get out either."

"So what are we going to do? Just sit in here and wait until we starve to death?"

In the brief time since she had introduced herself, Neville had not seen her loose her temper, and they had discussed this very topic several times.

"You were the one who said you were okay with dying!" he snapped back.

Her eyes crackled with a rage that she didn't bother trying to suppress. "Not with dying for no reason. Which is what staying down here will result in, if we don't try something soon. Somehow I doubt that the people who are supposedly on our side are coming and rescuing us any time soon—you don't hear any fighting upstairs, do you?"

He sighed heavily. "But there is nothing that we can do. We've gone through every possible option and so far, nothing would work."

She bit her lip, pulling her hair hastily back into a ponytail. "I know. I just—I need something to keep me sane, you know? As long as I can keep focused, I'll be okay. I know I will."

"I've been reciting plant names in my head alphabetically," he suggested weakly, doubting that it would be of any use. In response, however, her face lit up and she grinned at him broadly.

"I've got it."

"What, another plant name that starts with the letter 's'?"

"No, a way to fight them. It's just an idea, but… You're good at Herbology, right?"

He nodded slowly.

"Good in an 'I stayed up all night studying' way or do you understand plants?"

"Well, I've never studied all night," he said by way of reply.

"Great. I knew that I'd need you."

"For what?"

–––

Of all the things Hermione had expecting tonight, this was certainly not high on the list. She had taken Severus' shiftiness in the last few days to mean that he had forgotten to plan anything, but, judging by the secluded restaurant that he had uncovered in Muggle London—his rather odd comments about her clothing yesterday suddenly made sense—the case was quite different.

"Remember Leipzig?" she asked, taking a sip of water and basking in the candlelight as they waited for their drinks to come.

"No. Not at all," came the sharp reply, but the edges of his voice were tinged with humour.

She grinned at him. "Oh, that's how it is, is it?"

"It most certainly is."

"I can't believe it's been almost half a year," she sighed, feeling suddenly nostalgic. "And a year since last Christmas."

"Well, generally a year passes between each Christmas holiday," he pointed out dryly.

A giggle broke free. "You know perfectly well what I mean. It's been about a year since I discovered that you were actually human."

"Don't presume to know all of my secrets, my dear."

"Oh, I don't," she shot back loftily. "I know your ticklish places and, for now, that will be enough."

His mock-glare made her laugh harder, gaining the attention of the waiter, who promptly made his way over.

–––

"I feel sick…" Ron moaned, collapsing next to his sister, who was eying the margarita that had been mixed for her by George with uncertainty. She hadn't had time to change before being dragged upstairs by her three youngest brothers, who were bearing all of the alcohol that they had managed to smuggle past Mrs Weasley's watchful gaze, and was doubtful that she would be able to maintain the level of control that was required.

"That's why normal people don't drink that much tequila at once," she replied acidly, watching as Draco let himself be talked into a drinking game with her twin brothers.

"Are you having that?" He gestured towards her drink, making Ginny roll her eyes.

"No, go ahead. But if you get alcohol poisoning, don't blame me."

She stood, making a motion to leave the room. "I'll be back right away. I just need to check on something."

Slipping past the party of adults downstairs was almost ridiculously easy. For a moment, she hung in the doorway to the sitting room, almost pitying the way that they threw themselves into the punch bowl, yet understanding the need for escape. Wasn't that what she was going outside to do after all?

Sadly, she realised with insight that surprised her that their lives had been marked by war, that even if they survived this one, there was no future for those that had devoted their lives to fighting for what they believed to be right. There would be sideline ministry jobs, like that of her father, and commemorations, but they would be empty gestures—after a lifetime of uncertainty, the tendency towards fear could not be erased and vitality could not be restored. They would be left with nothing.

Shaking her head, she slunk away, entering the freezing air of the backyard and tilting her head back to study the half moon that hung above her. The wolf was pressing close to the human inside of her mind, taking control with more ease than she was accustomed to, as clothes fell away from her body, giving way to fur as her eyes closed. Within seconds, her wolf-self was disentangling from the clothing and romping through the snow that coated the ground, oblivious to the cold in her eagerness to forget humanity.

After a while, she became aware of someone hovering just inside the doorway and her ears perked up. His scent was familiar and once the wolf placed it, it sent her hurtling back into human form.

Crouching naked in the snow, her red hair glaring against its whiteness, Ginny glared at Draco.

"What?"

Shrugging, he stepped outside and offered her his jacket. "I just wanted to come see where you went."

His speech was slightly slurred and she couldn't help but notice the way he swayed as she wrapped his coat around herself.

"Well, I'm here."

A smile carved itself onto his features as he looked at her with a frankness that she was unaccustomed to. "If I asked you, would you give me the ability to do that?"

"Ability to do what?"

"That thing you do. The wolf thing. I want to try it."

"No you don't," she replied firmly. "You're drunk and don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes I do. Unlike your idiot of a brother, I can hold my liquor."

Picking up the clothing that she had shed and rolling it into a ball, she put her arm around his shoulder and led him back into the house.

"Of course you can. But I still won't do it."

"Why not?"

_Let me think, Draco_, she wanted to say. _Because nobody in their right mind would want this._ _I didn't at first, even though now it's my escape, but it would be easy to argue that I'm not quite sane._

"Because I don't want you to have to turn into what I've turned into," she told him instead, after a long silence.

"Fur every once in a while is livable," he replied, stumbling over the stairs. "At least it isn't fake—that's tacky."

"That's not what I meant."

But he either chose to ignore that comment or was too drunk to hear her properly.

–––

The hotel room that Severus had booked was in a building in the same area as the one that they had stayed in last year, but this one had much better furnishings and wasn't filled with memories that Hermione wasn't sure were good or bad. From her stance near the window, she could see street lights stretching out beneath them, flickering and mingling with those of cars. She became aware of hands running down her sides and Severus' form pressing into her back as he kissed her neck and sent tingling sensations shooting through her. A part of her wanted to stay here forever, entangled in this moment of fairytale-like bliss, but uncertainty pushed at the edge of her mind, distracting her and pulling her out of it.

"Stop."

It came out harsher than she had meant it to, as the startled look on his face plainly stated.

"I'm sorry… I just… I want to know where this came from."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Where what came from?"

"This… Tonight. Dinner. The hotel."

"Don't you like it?" Something slid over his eyes that was cold and defensive.

"Of course I do," she sighed, and it was the truth. "I'm a little confused, is all. I don't understand where this is coming from or what it means or what's going on or _anything_."

A little bit of the hardness slipped from his gaze, leaving him looking more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. "I'm not sure. There just isn't… There isn't enough time to spend with you—just you—and I am beginning to fear that there will never be. One or both of us could possibly not survive the next few months—don't shake your head. You know it's true. And I suppose that, in the event that that happens, I want us to have a least one moment to look back on…"

She bit her lip, helpless to the fact that he was shaking as he spoke and attempting to calm himself by sucking in deep breaths.

"I can't think of a second that I regret having spent the way we did," she replied finally, hoping to soothe him, not sure whether to be heartbroken or overjoyed over his confessions.

"I've been positively cruel where you are concerned," he replied with a slight stammer, anger and self-loathing filling his voice. "I-I should have told you this months ago, but I didn't. I was afraid that I would lose you, frighten you off, so I held my tongue when I shouldn't have."

She couldn't deny her moments of uncertainty, not when he was glaring at her with such rabid honesty, so she settled for merely shaking her head rather than responding.

Turning his back on her, his shoulders began to shake with the force of silent sobs that she could tell he was trying to suppress. Overcome, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, letting him bury his head in her hair.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm here. Whatever happens will happen whether we want it to or not, we just need to believe that we'll be okay."

He lifted his head and stared directly into her eyes, the sight of his tearstained face making a lump form in her throat.

"Do you truly believe that?"

Calmly, she said, "I have to believe it. It's the only thing keeping me sane."

The fierceness of his mouth on hers a moment later caught her off guard and sent her spiraling into a place where she could forget about what awaited them upon the end of Christmas Holidays.

–––

Exiting the Hogwarts express was like entering another world. Visibly, nothing had changed, but everyone was frighteningly aware of the silence that had descended over the town. People were mulling through the streets around the station, silent and almost shell-like and there was a scent in the air that Ginny could pick up if she concentrated hard enough that was like the remnants of fear.

Turning to Draco, she hissed, "Something is wrong here."

Shaking his head in bewilderment, he replied, "But we would have heard…"

"Maybe not." In a inhumanly fast motion she grabbed the nearest person passing by them, examining his almost completely blank face with a sort of desperation. "How do we find the castle?" she barked out at him, but he simply shrugged and pulled away with strength that she wouldn't have expected him to possess.

"What is it?" Draco asked, alarmed.

"It's like Harry," she muttered.

"_What_?"

"Imperius," she told him, eyes widening with horror. "The entire town is under the Imperius Curse."

"You've got to be joking."

A cold smile spread across her face. "You know me well enough to tell that I'm not. I can smell it, just like I can smell their fear still from whenever this happened."

"That's kind of creepy," he mused. "Does that mean that you can tell when I haven't showered for a few days?"

She glared at him. "Everyone can. And this is serious. We've pretty much just strolled into a giant trap that's going to kill us all."

The last words carried a bit more than she wanted them to, attracting the attention of a group of third years that were coming off of the train. Horror spread across their faces and one of them tried to sprint back onto the train and the others held her back, whispering amongst themselves and repeating it to other people who hadn't quite heard what she had said.

"And on top of that, we have a train full of idiot children to take care of," Draco added helpfully.

A/N: Thanks to copious amounts of Tori, Sarah Slean, Howie Day, and various other artists that people around me were constantly subjected to for getting me through this chapter... Also thanks to Lauren for her frighteningly in-depth conversations about characters' theme songs (this fic now has a soundtrack...), Charlie Weasley's leather pants (and who ends up in them), and other things conducive to creativity...

Snape's breakdown, in case anyone is wondering, created almost more of an issue in writing than the Ginny/Harry event of Chapter 19. I almost cut it out several times, but eventually decided that (in my world), he's a man who probably hasn't cried for about two decades. He's due for a sob into the pillowcase. So cringe, wince, whatever you need to do–just try not to hold it against me.


	24. 23 When the Lifespray Cools

Disclaimer: HP and all that goes with it is JKR's. Chapter title is taken from the song 'Jig of Life' by Kate Bush (album: Hounds of Love). If you feel that this chapter needs a soundtrack, go listen to that.

Perfection

Chapter 23: When the Lifespray Cools

"I don't understand what this is doing," Neville sighed, opening his eyes and rubbing them in frustration. "I can find the plants fine—they're all there—but what am I going to do? _Talk _to them?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. Of course not. But is there some way that you can tell what's going on?"

"They're trees, Liv," he said with exaggerated patience. "They don't have eyes."

"It'll work," she insisted. "Just try again. You'll see what I mean."

And, because there were very few other options and a small part of him was hoping that Liv knew what she was talking about, Neville shut his eyes and reached out for the roots of the plants growing somewhere above him. This time, though, he didn't head straight for the Whomping Willow or for the trees of the Forbidden Forest. This time, he slid into a blade of grass, gliding through the network of tangled roots until he had stretched himself far enough that he had hit what he assumed were the outer walls of Hogwarts.

A strange sensation passed over him, making him feel as though many spines were curving and straightening simultaneously. After a moment, he realised that it meant someone had walked over him, a thought that made him shudder slightly. He shifted again, withdrawing from the plants and sending himself back into his body.

"I did it," he breathed, face flushed. "And I know what we can do."

"Are you serious?" Her eyes lit up under her dark fringe of hair and she giggled, perhaps a little hysterically.

–––

Masses of people being herded back onto the train momentarily served as enough of a distraction to ward off the crushing panic that Hermione knew would descend onto her any second. This was one of those moments that she had always known would come, had tried to mentally prepare herself for, yet somehow all it had been in vain. She told herself that concentrating on it would only make the situation worse, but nothing could draw her attention away from the alarming rate her heart was thumping at. Positive that any second it would explode into her chest, she deepened her breaths, but they, too, grew quick and shallow.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a boy huddled against one of the walls of the station, either too frightened or confused to move. This gave her a moment of clarity, where she was able to run to his side and drag him toward the doors of the train, but it was only a moment. Once it had passed, fear returned in full-force, making her head spin so hard that she nearly lost her balance.

"Hermione."

A steadying voice in her ear as someone caught her. She met Severus' dark gaze and flushed, feeling humiliated in the face of his calm state.

"I'm okay." A few deep gulps of air was all it took to steady herself.

An eyebrow arched in response and she tried to grin, failing miserable.

"Maybe not okay," she amended. "But I'll live."

Both of them paused for a moment, staring into the chaos before them as they pondered the likelihood of that coming to pass.

–––

After what felt like hours of ushering, but in actuality was probably closer to minutes, Draco looked around at who was remaining outside of the train. Pushing hair drenched in sweat back so that it was no longer plastered to his forehead, he sighed heavily. Ginny was slamming a door shut with inhuman strength, ignoring the pleading face of a boy with dirt smudges on his cheeks who was standing just inside them while Hermione collapsed onto the steps leading to the platform biting her lip. Weasley sat down next to her awkwardly, placing what was probably meant to be a comforting had on her shoulder, but she stiffed and brushed it off, leaping to her feet almost instantly. Through it all, Snape looked on with deceptive impassivity, his firmness forming a sharp comparison with the bewildered stillness of Potter who was waiting for an order of some sort.

"Now what?" she asked, and Draco could almost feel her tension spreading through him.

"We need to get the train out of here," Ginny responded. "With or without us on it."

"It won't be able to leave." Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose, although it was difficult to read what this spelled. "There will be spells up around the town to prevent that."

"So we ward it," Hermione said flatly. "I don't care what it takes out of us; we aren't leaving defenceless children nicely packaged for the slaughter."

"Like we would, Granger," Draco found himself replying, surprised at what was coming out of his mouth. In this group, he was far from being one to look to for ethical advice.

"What about us?" Ron spoke up, looking as though he wished he hadn't been the one to offer the most self-serving comment. "Are we going in there too?"

"All of us have taken some of the Golden Shield," Hermione said by way of response. "It won't protect us from physical harm, but they won't be able to use magic. That should buy us some time."

"Time to do what, exactly?" Ginny snapped. "If we can't leave Hogsmeade, what good will being outside of the train do?"

"We need to get outside help." The other girl seemed unfazed—an unshakable calm seemed to have descended over her that reminded Draco of her response to the attack on Snape months before. "The only way we can do that is to send a message… Unless I'm mistaken, nothing that they do can alter the wards on Hogwarts, which means that we should be able to contact them there."

"You're bloody mental," Draco shot out, almost against his will. "Fifty galleons says that they've already taken over the castle and no one is going in or out of it. We'd be signing our own death warrants."

A silence descended over the group for a brief moment, broken only when Snape's dark gaze met Draco's cool, grey one with an intensity that made him shiver. "I think," he replied slowly, speaking words that everyone knew the truth of, "that our death warrants are already signed, sealed, and perilously close to delivery. If we wait for the Ministry or the Order to notice that an entire wizarding town in Scotland has mysteriously plunged off of the map, we'll be rotting before they take action."

"You're honestly saying that waltzing right into the stronghold of people who really want to kill us is going to be what could save our lives?" he snorted in one last attempt at incredulity, but stopped at the sight of four determined faces staring back at him.

"We'll wait until nightfall, then?" Hermione asked.

–––

Hugging his knees to his chest as he sat on the window seat, Charlie stared out into the darkened sky. Night was still falling early and faint speckles of stars were already sprayed across it. From down the hall, the murmuring of his parents arguing was just barely audible, taking him back several years, to a time when things had been far more certain.

A piece of him longed for that time, but it was only a piece—the sureness of his childhood had been more smothering than anything. His mother was, once again, trying to convince him to come home, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Every time he considered the notion, he could feel that same horrid blanket of security descending upon him. Suppressing him.

It wasn't his family's fault, he acknowledged. In many ways it was his, for allowing these expectations to build, making it more and more difficult to tear them down in subsequent years. No matter how outgoing, good-looking, clever—how _ready_—he had appeared to be upon his graduation, most of his education had taken place in the near-decade since.

Outside, the light of the stars was outweighing that of the sunset more dramatically, but he wasn't paying any particular attention any longer. Restless, he stood and made his way out, into the hall.

–––

"Can you at least tell how many there are up there?"

Neville shook his head, once again finding that his frustration was reaching a new high. "As long as they're moving, it's impossible for me to keep count. I think I lost track at around thirty."

Liv swore colourfully, giving him a brief moment of amusement before he grew grave. "It was a good idea," he shrugged, "but it didn't work. It _won't _work, no matter how much we try to tweak it."

"In the last few days haven't I taught you _anything _about the power of positive thought?" she snapped, only half-joking.

"Yes. You taught me that it's a load of bollocks."

In the stricken silence that followed, Neville tried to figure out just how seriously that remark had been meant.

"Well, pardon me," she retorted sulkily, eyes narrowing glitteringly. "I guess I won't try to help you anymore, then."

The boy found himself blinking in shock. "_Help _me? Is that what you were trying to do? Funny, I don't remember the idea of _me _being helped ever coming up in our conversation. This whole thing has been about saving your bloody sanity from the awful depths of helplessness. If anyone was doing the helping, it was me—for Merlin's sake, you had me trying to communicate with blades of grass!"

"I was trying to find a way to keep everyone down here alive—if that isn't helping, I don't know what is." Her shoulders had hunched up nearly to her ears in self-defence, but her expression was furious.

"No," Neville said flatly. "You're not. You want to feel like you're doing something, so you've invented some mad idea that you can get us out of here, but you can't. I can't. If even Dumbledore can't, then there isn't a point in even trying."

For a moment, rage seemed to be building behind her mouth, which was tightly pursed closed and Neville found himself dreading the explosion.

It never came.

Instead, there was a searing pain across his cheek as her hand lashed across it.

"Ouch!"

"Don't say that you didn't deserve that."

"I won't," he grimaced. "But I have a strange feeling that this bruise is going to outlive me."

"You really think that we won't survive?" The anger was fading from her tone, although he could still hear an element of the sceptical in it.

He nodded as the tightness around her mouth stretched into a weak grin.

"Damn," she swore softly. "I knew that I should have been concentrating on losing my virginity rather than escaping."

Heat flooded Neville's face as he suddenly found himself fascinated by a crack in the floor.

Liv giggled at his embarrassment. "You're really quite adorable when you blush, you know that?" she teased. "A right English rose."

"Oh, shut up."

–––

That Severus felt slightly awkward being the only person in the group over the age of eighteen was an understatement. When he was with Hermione, it was different—for a variety of reasons, he had stopped viewing her as being as young as those that were the same age. He was beginning to understand Molly's 'cradle-robber' comments with a disturbing clarity.

However, when he glanced back at the group that was leaning against the platform with him, he realised that at that age he had no longer considered himself a child. That sudden and haunting revelation that they were staring death in the eye had completed the awkward transition to adulthood sometime in the last three hours.

Hermione moved to sit closer to him and tucked her hand into his, offering a small smile. "I guess this came sooner than we thought."

He nodded. "It did."

"Are you all right with our plan? I realise that you probably know way more about this than anyone else and I had no business jumping in like that and taking over."

"Hermione, I feel that it's far better you took control. In this situation, my instinct is to retreat but, as you so cleverly pointed out to me, there is nowhere to retreat _to_."

"You could have figured that one out on your own," she muttered. "Don't make out what I said to be more than it was."

"I'm not trying to be patronizing," he responded sharply.

"Try harder," she barked, then immediately looked ashamed. "I'm sorry… I'm just on edge. I hate this waiting."

"Everyone is."

"Except Harry," came her reply. Severus glanced up at the boy who was sitting blankly, not moving as Hermione continued, "I almost envy that. A state where nothing matters because you aren't really there."

"Do you really?"

Hermione bit her lip, pondering the question seriously for a moment before saying, "No. At one point, I think that I would have, but not now. I could die at any second and that scares the hell out of me, but until that point comes, I want to live and know that I'm living."

And in a few short sentences, Severus was reminded of why he had been able to forget her age so readily. Almost unwittingly, his hand brushed her arm, making her turn and touch his cheek lightly with her lips. They were silent for the next few moments, letting all the spoken and unspoken things hover between them until that was broken by Severus taking her hand.

"It's time."

What remaining colour that she had dropped from her face, but otherwise she didn't flinch as she stood up, signalling to Ginny and Draco to do likewise. Harry followed suit a moment later and they all followed as Severus lead the way out of the train station, a black shadow that was barely visible beneath streetlights that had not been lit.

–––

"So, tomorrow, then?" Remus asked, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

Agrippa nodded. "Tomorrow it will have been a year."

They stared at the unopened bottle of rum between them, neither wanting to make the first move toward it.

"I was almost married once," he remarked, startling her. Even though she knew that he trusted her, his personal confessions tended only to happen once he was too drunk to feel self-conscious. "I'm kind of glad it didn't work out…"

"What happened?"

"It was this girl that Sirius set me up with… You know, _him_. I originally only dated her to make him happy, which in retrospect really makes no sense given the circumstances."

She chuckled in agreement.

"She was nice and pretty and we got along well… She didn't care about any of the wolf shit, said that it was nice that she could have a man who understood 'monthly issues.'"

"What was her name?" Agrippa asked curiously.

"Jaclyn. She was a lot like you, actually."

"So, bitter and irritating, then?"

Remus laughed, "A bit, yes. She was very much her own person and I admired that aspect of her. I probably admired her a bit too much, actually."

"Were you in love with her, though?"

A moment's pause as Agrippa's curiosity soared.

"No. I wasn't _in love _with her—I wanted to be. But she was always more of a good friend and I think that we both knew it… She certainly didn't seem surprised when I ended our engagement and she was the first person who I told… you know, _that_, to."

"What happened to her? I mean, did you stay friends or anything? From what you said, she doesn't seem the type to just…"

"We stayed friends until… She died in the last war. She was an assistant in the foreign affairs department and there was a raid on the Ministry. Everyone was supposed to evacuate, but she chose to stay in order to destroy government records."

"Your life is one giant tragedy, you know that?" Agrippa remarked. "I mean, until I met you, I thought mine was pretty sad but this is like comparing daytime television to Shakespeare… You do know who Shakespeare was, right?"

He grinned. "I do know that much."

"There is hope for you yet."

Both of them broke into giggles, although neither was completely sure why, but were abruptly silenced by the clearing of a throat in the doorway.

"Is there enough for one more?"

Charlie stepped in, sitting in an empty armchair.

"Sorry. I realise that I'm probably like the annoying kid that just can't take a hint…"

"No, not at all," Remus replied, although Agrippa could see him beginning to close off slightly.

"We _like _you," she added. "Sort of. And anyway, at the rate we're going, you can probably just have the entire bottle."

"I don't think even that would put me to sleep right now," he remarked, "but I'm happy to try."

"Lovely," Agrippa said. "But, if you're actually going to open it, I might as well have a bit."

"Don't give her too much," Remus cautioned. "It gets frightening… And give me some."

They were all about to take a sip, but Agrippa help up a hand in protest, smirking slightly. "Wait! Before our friend here has any he has to tell a secret because the two of us will be spilling our guts out after about twenty seconds."

Remus raised his eyebrows and looked at the other man expectantly. Charlie cringed.

"Er… I hate carrots?" he tried.

"You told me that one already."

Agrippa's ears perked up, and the smirk became conniving.

"Okay… How about… My mother thinks that I'm moving to Ireland soon, but I'm actually thinking about refusing the offer and going to Mongolia instead."

"That's passable," Remus said.

Agrippa nodded. "Okay, drink. But then you have to tell why."

"And suddenly I feel like I'm at a slumber party with a group of teenage girls," Charlie muttered, eyeing his glass before shooting it back.

"Several people have remarked on the resemblance," Agrippa responded, coughing. "In fact, Remus likes to spend his weekends in heels and red lipstick. Recently, I introduced him to a new line of eyeliner..."

He barked out a laugh and, almost automatically, responded, "Just because I like men, doesn't mean..." then trailed off into a horrified silence, dropping his glass.

Agrippa shot a glance at Charlie, trying to gauge his reaction, but the redhead didn't appear to be anything more than mildly surprised.

"Shit," Remus swore. "I can't believe..." He closed his eyes for a moment and Agrippa leaned over to squeeze his hand.

"It's okay," Charlie announced. "If that's what you're worried about, I don't care. And I won't tell anyone, if you don't want me to. I'm--"

He began to laugh softly, with an undertone of hysteria. "Tell anyone you want."

"I'm sorry," Agrippa murmured. "I wasn't trying..."

He laughed harder. "I know you weren't. I'm not angry, just... I said it. I actually said it. And I'm glad that I did." Overcome, he slid off of the chair and onto the floor, where he curled up, shaking with giggles. "I'm gay. I'm fucking gay."

"Is he going to be okay?" Charlie asked, blue eyes wide with worry. "I'm almost tempted to think that he's already drunk."

She nodded. "I he will--he just surprised himself there."

"I'd say. Maybe he should go to sleep or something before he wakes up the entire house?"

Agrippa laughed dryly. "I don't think he's going to be walking anywhere for a while."

"No problem," Charlie replied. "I'll get him there."

She looked sharply at him, failing to suppress a grin. He responded with a confused expression.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Pulling out his wand, he aimed it at Remus and muttered, "_Mobilicorpus_."

It was with a sigh that Agrippa realised his intent had never been to carry the other man up the stairs.

–––

"Worst decision you've ever made?" Liv was sitting cross-legged, picking at the soles of her feet--her shoes had been abandoned several metres away hours prior.

"Listening to you," Neville replied, making a face. "Or possibly agreeing to play this stupid game."

"Don't say it doesn't kill time."

He laughed dryly. "Oh, it kills it all right. In a slow, agonizing way. Did I mention that I hate torture more than anything?"

"Several times now. If you have a better idea, by all means tell me now."

"You know that I don't."

Liv smiled triumphantly. "I know that you don't."

He sighed, barely suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "Fine. What's _your_ worst mistake?"

"Not being compassionate enough. I'm a complete bitch when I want to be."

"I've noticed. One thing that you've always wanted but will never get."

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. Peace of mind, I suppose. You?"

He studied his hands, not trusting himself to look up. "A real conversation with my parents. Not those hospital conversations where I just talk and know that they aren't hearing a word I'm saying, you know? I want to be able to ask them questions or get in a shouting match or just go home at holidays and know that I'll get the opportunity to be sick of them."

She nodded. "That makes sense."

"I guess it's the idea of unconditional love, really," he continued, staring blankly down. "My Gran--she tries, but it isn't really the same."

"Nothing ever is." Her eyes wide with something that was too real to be pity, she leaned over and touched her lips to his. "It's okay though. Somehow, I think things always are."

–––

It hadn't taken long before capture had taken place. Both Hermione and Ron, in the process of planning, hadn't overlooked the fact that Pettigrew would most likely have informed Voldemort of the tunnels leading in and out of Hogwarts, but since it seemed slightly less risky than bounding through the front gates, everyone had opted for it anyway. Once again, Hermione had reminded them of the Golden Shield as a first line of defence--it wouldn't protect them from physically-induced harm, but the time that it took for anyone in their way to realise that would be enough to react to the situation. This hadn't prevented them from being taken prisoner when they had reached the other end of the passageway. The bottles of potion that Percy had stolen from their stores had apparently been distributed through the ranks, leaving them with no magical advantage to speak of.

And so Ginny found herself face to face with Voldemort for the second time in less than six months. This time, though, he was sitting on a makeshift dais where the staff table had once been in the Great Hall, both more comfortable and more furious than he had been during their last meeting. But this time, Ginny found herself less afraid than she had been previously--the heat coursing through her veins was enough to scald her as the wolf prepared to pounce at any second. She focused the majority of her energy on keeping the other side of her in check, but one tiny corner of her mind was still devoted to controlling Harry, a tiny corner that prayed it wouldn't slip up.

–––

"Albus, there must be something--"

"I think that we've been over this enough times in the last few days. There is no possible way we can evacuate. The tunnels aren't anything more than a labyrinth without any particular end point. If need be, we can retreat further inwards, but aside from that there is nowhere else to go."

The voices grew gradually louder and clearer as Percy came to. Shaking his head to clear it, he wondered what had happened and why he was sleeping in the presence of Dumbledore and McGonagall, trying to recall what recent catastrophe had befallen the school. With this attempt came the realisation that he had graduated a few years prior and had been instrumental in bringing about this particular catastrophe.

There were more than the faint stabbings of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

Still, the fact that he wasn't dead yet bode well for his hopes of continuing to live. He didn't seem to be in Azkaban either, something that he noted with sharp relief. Maybe there were more memories that he was still in the process of recalling, in which he had performed some sort of heroic deed that had cleared his name.

Expectantly, he waited for them to arrive, but they never came. Instead, there were vague images of people sliding in and out of darkness--Ron, Ginny, his mother, Professor Snape... The last one confused him slightly, until he recalled vile liquids being forced down his throat.

Ah, so they had drugged him. Fair enough, given the circumstances. He wondered if they had planned on allowing him to awaken or if unforeseen circumstances had allowed it to happen. A gasp and an exclamation as someone noticed that his eyes were open gave him his answer and, with a sigh, he resigned himself to whatever fate was about to send in his direction.

–––

Fumbling in the dark. Jeans being awkwardly removed, bits of faint light reflecting off of strands of hair, some sharp, pained gasping accompanied by the occasional blind grope. Neville couldn't help but feel that he was experiencing the living, breathing definition of teenage sex.

But, in that spinning, jumbled space of time, how good it was be living and breathing.

The dim light that found its way through the passageway was enough to allow him to see Liv's face, scrunched up--whether it was in pain or gratification, he couldn't tell. As time wore on, he found it difficult to care. This might be the one chance that he had to experience of blasting off not, quite literally, by his own hand and a part of him had decided to take full advantage of it.

And he did.

Several minutes later found him lying on the clammy stone floor, watching Liv pull her shirt back over her head. She shook her head to make her hair fall properly and he vaguely wondered how hair as black as hers could seem to hold more light than anything else nearby.

She grinned, misinterpreting the meaning of his stare. "You'll have to give me a couple of minutes before we try that again. I'm a bit sore."

He flushed, glancing away. "That's not what--"

"Neville, it doesn't matter. I'm just teasing you. And this doesn't change anything, really. Remember I said that this isn't about love--it's about getting off properly at least once in our lives."

Her eyes were sparkling with a dark, sad sort of humour when he looked back at her, nodding. She was right--it wasn't about love. He wasn't in love with her and she most certainly wasn't in love with him. He liked her, but was smart enough to realise that it wasn't the same thing.

However, he did disagree with her on one point. Things were different now. Walls that had existed previously within his mind were rapidly crumbling, leaving him in unfamiliar terrain. And for some odd reason, he realised that he just had found something worth living for--a thought that made him suddenly ready to face down death.

"Are you okay?" Liv's eyes glittered at him in concern and he nodded.

"Yeah. I think I just need to be alone for a while."

"Fair enough. I'm going to try and get some sleep. Wake me up if you want company."

–––

As Agrippa pulled Remus' blankets up around his chin, he caught her wrist, looking as intensely at her as possible with half-closed eyes. She was oddly reminded of tucking her daughter in at night, back when Hermione had been small enough to still want such things, and felt a brief stab of grief in her lower abdomen.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, not wanting to make noise, which was ridiculous since he had made enough noise in the last hour to wake up an entire country of people who had overdosed on sleeping pills.

He nodded. "I just want to say thanks."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Being there. Understanding--or at least trying to. Putting up with me."

With a sigh, she sank down onto the floor next to the bed; her mothering instinct was telling her that he wanted to talk for a bit. "Don't be silly. It's what any decent human being would do."

He laughed softly. "Then there aren't too many decent human beings in the world."

Rotating her head so that she could see him, she replied, "Maybe so. But if people are worth your while, they won't think less of you for who you are. Nothing can change what you have done up to this point in your life, and there are a lot of people that respect you for those things. I probably don't know the half of it, but if they truly care about you, gay or straight or werewolf or whatever else you could possibly be shouldn't change that. When I look at a person, I see a person first. Everything else is second to that. The kid whose head I'm drilling a hole into is a person, my daughter is a person, the woman that my ex-husband cheated on me with is a person. My ex-husband himself, I'm not too sure about some days, but he doesn't count..."

Some of the heaviness in his eyes dissipated and, for once, he looked hopeful. "But how do I tell people? Just run up to them, say, 'By the way, I'm gay!' and run away? Aside from the fact that that's similar to what I did tonight, it just seems ridiculous."

"You don't have to do it that way. It doesn't have to be a huge deal--just if the moment is right, say it. You managed to tell me easily enough."

"I was pissed out of my mind at the time," he snorted. "I distinctly remember you being in a similar state so I was hoping that you wouldn't remember in the morning."

Agrippa smiled. "That _is_ true."

"It just... Saying it was such a relief. It was like I was finally being honest with myself."

"And Charlie didn't care," she reminded him. "Maybe some people will, but I've already said that they aren't worth it. Make yourself happy first and worry about the rest of it later. And go to sleep because I'm tired," she added with a yawn.

He copied her, closing his eyes as she stood to go.

Before padding out into the hall, she nudged him with a fist, muttering, "And I can't believe that you didn't tell me you were engaged... Bastard!"

Drowsily, he retorted, "That doesn't change me as a person, does it?"

With a laugh, she left the room and shut the door behind her, finding herself face-to-face with Charlie Weasley, who was giving her one of the oddest looks she had received in her life.

"Did you want something?"

"Not really," he replied. "I was just waiting to make sure we wouldn't have to sedate him or something."

Agrippa giggled slightly. "No. I think he's fine now. Exhausted, but he's calmed down a bit. Are you up to finishing the rum downstairs? I could certainly use it."

–––

Lined up in front of Voldemort, Severus felt the pounding of his heart lessen. There was nothing that he was facing now that he hadn't faced before. Nothing out of the ordinary. The Great Hall had been entirely emptied, with the exception of two obligatory Death Eaters who appeared to serve as bodyguards, although he knew that their purpose was more to keep the captives in than anything else.

"Severus." That high nasal whine of a voice reverberated throughout the room.

Out of habit, he almost replied, "My lord," but caught himself in time. He made no verbal response, only arched his eyebrows in question.

"You have disappointed me yet again--but I think this goes without saying."

_Yet you feel the need..._ He let this thought hover above the rest in his mind, knowing that as he spoke, Voldemort was shuffling through. Occlumency just then was not nearly as important as it had been in times past, but there were still certain things that he did not want to betray. Certain things that happened to be standing several feet to the right of him with bushy brown hair.

"Pity," the Dark Lord murmured. "I no longer seem to have any power over you. Fortunately, I know of someone who does."

Involuntarily, he felt himself stiffen. Had he gone deep enough to know exactly his thoughts and feelings regarding Hermione? He hadn't needed to bury his thoughts for months, but had always assumed that it was one of those skills that you didn't lose. Panic was returning in full force, although he kept it well hidden.

Before he had time to reflect on this further, however, a door behind them opened and he swung around in time to see a familiar figure waltz in.

"Mother," he snarled, barely able to contain his instantaneous reaction to leap forward and strangle her--something he now wished with even more fervour that he had done years before.

"Good evening, Severus," she greeted him, almost cheerfully. "We certainly seem to be running into each other quite frequently of late."

"Pity," he responded, eyes narrowed. "I quite liked the arrangement of having no contact whatsoever."

"I am rather inclined to agree. However, Fate's hand is her own and she'll do what she likes with it."

"This has less to do with fate than you meddling in my life."

She laughed, somewhat coldly. "You seem to be wrapped up in something larger than the trifles that I am accustomed to meddling with."

"Helena," Voldemort greeted her, almost jovially, "come see the specimens that I have captured. You may take one of them but must leave the dark-haired boy for me. He and I have unfinished business to attend to."

"Very well, Tom."

Her tone was indulgent as she moved down the line, pausing as she examined each of them. Only a moment was spent on Draco, but nearly twenty minutes passed in silence as she stared down Ginny. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus silently applauded the redhead's ability to keep eye contact without flinching. However, Helena seemed to decide that something was lacking and moved on to Harry. Here there seemed to be an even greater interest, as she placed her finger under his chin and tilted his head up.

"I told you--any but _him_." Any trace of cheer vanished from the Dark Lord's tone, which seemed to bring an icy cold over the room.

Helena barely appeared fazed. With an acquiescent nod she moved on, completely ignoring her son and stopping in front of Hermione. Almost instantly, she nodded.

"Her," she announced. "I want this one."

Severus didn't know whether to feel relief or fear. She wouldn't be at the mercy of a man who had traded in his humanity, but he wasn't entirely sure what deal his mother had struck and he had seen her ruthless side at play far too many times. Hermione, to her credit, didn't flinch or even glance over. Almost complacently, she followed behind the older witch out of the room and into the hall.

Severus had to force his eyes away from the closed door, knowing that if they lingered too long his one final secret would be revealed.

–––

Once in the corridor, Hermione turned to Helena and slapped her across the face with everything that she could muster.

"I _defended_ you," she hissed. "Maybe I should listen to Severus when he tells me things--he warned me not to trust you."

There was no response. Instead, Hermione found herself being held by the wrist and dragged away, up several flights of stairs into an empty, unused classroom that looked as though it was set up as an office.

"Attached are your quarters," Helena said impassively, gesturing towards a door in the corner. "For the duration of your apprenticeship, you will stay in them. Until we are better set up, I will be in here with a cot."

"Apprenticeship?" She was too shocked to be angry. "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Riddle downstairs has given me leave to apprentice one person of my choice in various fields of experimental magic. It is what we would have done, had this not interrupted my plans, but in a slightly more restricted environment."

"In exchange for what?" Hermione closed her eyes, counting to ten. It seemed that, in agreeing to the previous proposal, she had made this situation unavoidable.

"Any findings that we come across are to be handed over to him."

Her stomach began to churn and she was torn between the need to vomit and the need to rip Helena's hair out.

"I won't do it." At least her voice remained calm, belying the shaking of her hands. "I would rather die."

There was no response to this statement, only, "In your quarters you will find a bed, a lavatory, and a fireplace. Make what use of them that you can."

Helena covered the distance between them, pressing a bag into her hands. Before any more could be said, Hermione fled, only looking at its contents once she was safely in her room.

Floo Powder.

Hermione found herself able to only do one thing--laugh.

–––

"So how long have you known?"

Charlie had procured a bottle of wine and the whiskey was sitting, forgotten, on the coffee table.

Agrippa pushed her hair out of her eyes with a sigh. "A few months, I suppose. I've been here since the end of last July and I don't exactly remember when we started talking--sometime after that." She laughed and added, "We were both bloody miserable and ended up getting drunk by accident and he just spilled it. It was like he couldn't wait to get it out."

Charlie grinned. "So it's a relationship based around alcohol, then?"

"More or less. Although we get along fine even when we aren't drinking. I guess the fact that I didn't pass the message on made him trust me."

"I've always wondered about him," the redhead remarked. "Not that it changes anything--I was just curious. He's always been around the family, you know? Not in the sense that he comes for dinner three nights a week, but in the sense that we all knew and respected him... After a while you start to pick up on certain things."

She nodded. "Well, he is easy to respect."

"He's already got a lot of stigma following him around, you know," Charlie continued. "The werewolf thing--like he can help that."

"If he could, he would," Agrippa remarked softly, feeling a jolt of pain in her chest for her friend who was sleeping upstairs, "but he shouldn't have to."

They observed a moment of silence, staring deeply into their glasses, before Charlie burst out, "I hate this place. All I want to do is get the fuck away, but something keeps dragging me back and I can't help it."

"This house?"

"No. This entire bloody society. We're so backwards that it's painful. In Romania--where I am most of the time--they aren't exactly forward thinking, but nobody is trying to be proper all of the time. As long as you aren't stupid enough to get eaten by a dragon, you're accepted."

She was about to open her mouth to reply, when they were interrupted by a coughing from the fireplace. Agrippa screamed and leapt away, while Charlie rushed to calm her.

"It's just me, Mum," said Hermione's head that was visible in among the flames.

"But... the fire..."

"Don't worry. I'm okay. Charlie, can you come over here for a minute? I--we--need help."

He knelt in front of the fireplace, concern etching lines in his face. "All right. Go ahead."

"Hogwarts has been invaded. We pretty much pranced right into a huge trap--right now You-Know-Who has got Severus, Ginny, Draco, Ron, and Harry. I managed to get away, but I haven't got a lot of time. Hogsmeade is gone as well--the population is being subdued by the Imperius Curse--but we managed to get the rest of the students onto the train and ward it. They're being looked after by the staff. I don't know what happened to the people who stayed at the school for holidays, but I'm guessing it isn't good..."

"And the Ministry has no idea?" He snorted in disbelief as Agrippa looked on horrified.

"You mean, you're a prisoner?"

"Mum, not now. That isn't important. Charlie, how quickly do you think you can assemble the Order?"

As her daughter continued talking in a quiet, controlled voice to Charlie about technicalities, Agrippa found herself backing away, out of the room, terrified. Turning, she sprinted back up the stairs to the only person in the house that she knew well enough to turn to.

Bursting into his room, she gasped, "Remus! Get up!"

He opened his eyes, looking around in bewilderment. "What's going... Agrippa? What's wrong?"

Somehow, in between hysterical sobs, she managed to give the man a good enough idea of what had happened to send him bolting down the stairs. She followed behind, a little more slowly, and entered in time to find him, Charlie, and Hermione in a heated discussion. Remus turned to her and gestured her over, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"It's all right," he whispered as she wiped her eyes on his shoulder. "Just stay calm and don't worry. Charlie," he added, "go wake up your parents--they'll be able to contact everyone else--and then, once they're all assembled, we can plan further."

"What should I do?" Hermione asked, her voice breaking slightly.

"Whatever you have to," came the cool reply. "We'll be there are quickly as humanly possible."

–––

It had been remarkably easy to avoid sight as he made his way out of the tunnels and onto the stairway that led down into them. Not daring to light anything, he felt his way up in the dark, keeping a hand pressed to the clammy wall as he did so in order to keep his balance. He wasn't sure how long he climbed for, but an almost feverish need to reach the top drove him onwards until he walked headlong into a barrier. As he stumbled backwards, a feeling of certain death gripped him--there was no way for him to survive the fall.

Before oblivion reached him, however, hands steadied him from behind.

"Relax," a familiar voice whispered in his ears. "It's just me."

"Liv?" His tone was equal parts annoyed and relieved. "What are you doing?"

She made an amused sound in the back of her throat. "How stupid do you think I am? Like I'd let you go up alone."

–––

Ginny's heart pounded and her head screamed with agony. The link of the Imperius Curse between her and Harry was decreasing more and more, it's resonance fading in and out. Voldemort was speaking to Harry now, expecting an answer, and her mind was blank.

_Snappy response,_ she thought desperately.

"Fuck off, bitch," was the best that she could come up with.

Wincing inwardly, she waited for the retaliation that would follow. Oddly enough, Voldemort only laughed, making her wish that he had reacted violently--it was possibly the most horrible sound that she had ever heard. Of course, the laughter meant that he might be buying it.

Still staring directly at Harry, he said, "Ginevra Weasley, you _are_ amusing."

_Shit._

"Well," she responded nonchalantly, "I do my best."

She could feel something shuffling through her mind and did her best to keep it blank.

"If you're looking for hot lesbian make-out sessions, try a Ravenclaw." She knew that she probably wasn't helping the situation, but she was determined to get whatever grim amusement that she could out of this. "But then again, you know my preferences--you've already read my diary."

With a snarl, he shoved deeper into her thoughts, nearing the unconscious. Out of nowhere, the wolf part of her reared up, hackles raised, snarling. She felt him flee her mind as her other part lunged. Pouring all of her energy into remaining human, she released the last ties of the Imperius Curse, not bothering to look over at Harry as she did so. She didn't think she could handle the slackened, empty look that she knew was there.

It took him a moment to recover, but when he did, Voldemort rounded on her with glee that was more frightening than mirthful. Addressing her in her mind, he hissed, _My, aren't we a naughty one?_

Rolling her eyes at him, she refused to respond.

_That one-night stand with young Mr Potter--what would he have to say about that? Or would he even remember if I asked him? And does little Malfoy even know about it?_

She gasped in horror.

_You think that you can hide these things, Ginevra? Especially from me, who has known all of your secrets? Clearly I overestimated you..._

_Yes,_ she thought back, _clearly you did._

_I would still be willing to have you,_ he continued, _in spite of all of this. You really are quite powerful--you would be free to explore that here. If you ever wanted..._

Rather than attempt to respond, or even finish listening, she allowed all of the pressure that had built up within her to be released, triggering the fastest change she had ever made. The wolf leapt out of the place where the girl had been standing, shedding clothes and saliva in her mad rush to rip out the man's throat.

–––

In a dark corner, something was stirring. Waking up, perhaps. A voice was there, egging it on, calling it forward from the depths to which it had confined itself. The thing that was awakening couldn't seem to remember anything, not even its own consciousness before this time. The voice calling it--him, a sudden remembrance corrected--back seemed to be the only thing that there had ever been.

_No. Remember yourself. Try._

And, into the blackness, came a sudden tumbling of memory that filled him and made him long for that one-time void to be emptied.

A/N: Thanks to Lauren for helping Lupin 'leap out of his closet naked and willing' (I was considering having him coated in chocolate icing, but she fortunately talked me out of that one) and to my recent music obsessions (Kate Bush and Neverending White Lights) for keeping me sane and focused.


	25. 24 Nightmare

Disclaimer: The usual shiznit...

A/N: The chapter is the most recent one that has been written (meaning I've finally caught up to Schnoogle in terms of chapters posted). Unfortunately, this also means that the next update is going to take a while... Let me survive midterms before jumping all over me, please. An extremely mild slash warning, to any of the readers who might have delicate sensibilities... Although anyone who knows me should have seen this coming.

"Oh, it was _wonderful._ It was filled with _people._ I got to breathe and eat and… all _sorts_ of stuff. I wish it could have gone on for_ever_. I _wish _it didn't have to end like that…"

–Death (Didi), from Neil Gaiman's _Death: The High Cost of Living_

Perfection

Chapter 24: Nightmare

The room was bare, save for the bed and a desk and chair that appeared to have been filched from the adjacent classroom; Hermione found its most interesting feature to be a rather large crack that ran from floor to ceiling alongside the fireplace. She wasn't sure how long she had been studying it, wondering at the hollowness that filled her in the absence of the human contact that the Floo Powder had provided, but a quick glance at the lighting from the window hinted that it had been a mere matter of minutes.

She wondered at the audacity that Helena had in giving her a means of communication–or escape–to the outside world. Was this proof that she was indeed siding with them against Voldemort, or was it simply a test?

She wondered at her stupidity for not grasping the chance that she had been given, but the sobering thought of Severus abandoned to his fate downstairs had held her back. There was still a palm-full of the substance in the bag, which was now stashed in her pocket, but she knew that she would not use it until absolutely necessary. Absolutely necessary, she was certain, would not arrive until she had Severus Snape in tow.

That thought led to other wonderings, such as whether he was still alive. Hermione quickly found that it was one she would rather not ponder.

–––

The man dodged aside just in time, sending the wolf skidding across the floor. Still snarling, she turned herself around, leaping a second time in a vain attempt to strike him down. All of the human's reasoning was gone–the fact that there would soon be reinforcement, that this was a man who would most likely not be able to die by physical means. The only knowledge that she possessed was the ancient wisdom that, in such situations, it was kill or be killed.

In this particular situation, girl and wolf were united in the desire to kill.

–––

Twelve Grimmauld Place had erupted into chaos. People materialised everywhere, sometimes nearly on top of one another, as others darted around, calling for others, trying to sort themselves out. In the corner of the sitting room, Molly Weasley appeared to be hyperventilating, much to the horror of her husband, who barely seemed able to maintain his own composure. Remus was debating heatedly with a man with one false eye as a pink-haired girl attempted to referee but was ignored.

Agrippa sat in the midst of it all on the sofa, unmoving, unable to absorb any of what was going on around her. She felt numb and oddly calm, a rock in the turbulence of others' emotions. She could watch a fellow mother break down, observe the gradual colour change of Remus's face as he grew more enraged, and none of it would touch her.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. The blackness was deep and comforting–she gave herself to it willingly.

"Agrippa?"

Odd. She now seemed to be lying on the floor.

"Agrippa, are you alright?"

"I think so," she tried to answer, but her throat didn't seem to want to cooperate. She cleared it and tried again. "What happened?"

Remus's voice lost some of its panicked undertones as he replied, "I think you fainted. Are you positive that you're okay?"

She nodded, struggling to sit up. "Don't reckon that I have much of a choice."

His smile was grim as he helped her stand. "Too true."

"Still," she added with a grin, gesturing towards the room, "I seem to have worked a miracle."

And it was true. The silence that had fallen was so deafening it was almost as though the world had ceased to breathe. Molly seemed to have paused mid-sob to freeze and stare, as had the rest of the room's occupants. Taking a deep breath, Remus clapped his hands together and gave a wry glance to the side.

"Alastor, you know more about this than most of us. Why don't you do the planning?"

–––

Severus had been standing, attempting composure in a seemingly impossible situation, for the better part of ten minutes. Somehow, he had remained silent through Helena's betrayal–although he wasn't sure what he should have expected–but with Ginny's transformation had come an opportunity that he hadn't dared hope for. All focus was now on the wolf that was tearing and slipping across the room in desperate lunges at the dark wizard that was barely dodging them; this knowledge was allowing him to finally think the thought he had been suppressing.

_Find Hermione_.

He nearly fled the room, but paused instead, mid-turn, just in time to see a masked Death Eater throw a curse at the Weasley boy. An explosion of golden light followed, eclipsing the green that had shot out of his wand. The redhead's attempts were met with the same response, leaving Severus frozen for a moment in indecision.

It was only a moment. The next was spent silently putting into effect the most urgent summoning spell that he had ever performed and then he was swiftly using the sword in his hand to decapitate Ron's opponent.

"Bloody hell!"

"Yes, Mr Weasley, it seems as though physical force is to be the only option. Kindly arm yourself," Severus barked, irritated at the knowledge that looking for Hermione had just been put off.

He whipped around to advise Draco to do likewise, but there was no need: the blonde boy was wrestling a spear off of the nearest suit of armour. What truly caught his eye, however, was the expression on Potter's face. Completely ignored up to this point, no one had apparently noticed him begin to blink confusedly at the mess before him.

Silently. Severus screamed at him, _If you're going to bloody wake up, just do it._

Perhaps there was something to be said for mind reading, since he sprang into action a moment later, habitually dodging a curse and fumbling for his wand. Fortunately, after months without acting on his own, someone had had the good sense to allow him to keep it. It was somewhat painful watching him discover, however, that the wand was useless and Severus was about to step in as he had with Ron's attacker, when a sword went skidding across the floor, hilt first, hitting Harry in the side.

"Harry!" Ron cried. "Magic won't do anything!"

Severus sent him a grudging look of approval before wading into the fray to cut down as many men as he possibly could, mind sharp with the knowledge that the sooner he was done here, the better the chance of Hermione's survival.

–––

The wolf was beginning to feel cornered. Over ten men surrounded her, gradually backing her into a corner, where she knew that she would be finished. One of them held something sharp that it was waving at her, accompanied by a sickly sweet tone of voice, but try as she might, the one that she had been after was nowhere to be seen.

_Ignore me, _the girl said. _You're thinking like me. Don't listen to it._

The advice was easy to take. Picking the smallest and weakest-looking of the figures, she launched herself, all tooth and claw, and broke through the circle that they had held her in. A woman's shriek echoed behind her as she sprinted through the door, the girl cackling with glee inside of her head.

–––

"Follow her!"

Draco's head snapped up at the words, just in time to see the large, reddish wolf bolt through the main doors. There was no moment of hesitation–everything in his path became secondary as he fought his way through to follow her out of the Great Hall and through the corridors. Ahead of him, he could hear the voices of those who had been ordered to follow Ginny, forcing himself to remain far enough behind them that he wouldn't be noticed and trying to ignore the fact that almost no suit of armour was armed any longer.

They were catching on.

–––

Albus Dumbledore sat against a wall, trying to ignore the ache that began in his bones and spread throughout the rest of him, filling his mind and preventing him from thought. A few feet away, Minerva dozed in her cat form, tail twitching. He envied her ability to find a brief reprieve, but only for a moment. He had his responsibilities, no matter their discomfort.

Rolling his beard between two fingers, he raised his eyebrows as Filius, who was hurrying over with a worried expression.

"Albus, I just finished the rounds and we're a student short."

Alarm shot through him as he struggled to his feet, so that he once again towered over the tiny wizard. "Are you certain?"

"Quite. I've recounted three times now."

"Any idea who?" Minerva asked, surprising both of them with the swiftness of her transformation.

Filius set his mouth in a grim line. "Neville Longbottom."

Albus felt his shoulders sag in defeat. "I suppose some of us will have to go to the surface."

"I will," Minerva said without hesitation. She darted her eyes around the room as if searching for something.

"Not alone, surely," Filius replied.

Carefully, her mouth curved into a cold, remarkably feline smile as her gaze fell on a sleeping redhead a few feet away. "Naturally. I think that young Mr Weasley over here may finally prove his worth."

Percy stirred at the mention of his name, but it was Professor Vector tripping over him that actually forced him out of sleep.

"Sorry," she said brightly. After a moment of studying their expressions, she added, "Oh, good, it looks like we're finally making a plan. What have I missed?"

–––

The corridor was deserted. Neville wasn't sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't this. Being rushed by men in robes and pointy hats was actually significantly closer.

"Now what?" Liv asked, running a finger over a statue and wrinkling her nose at the dust that came off. "Clearly no one has been here for ages."

"We'll run into them eventually," he remarked. "But I think we need a plan."

Liv froze and turned to him. "You came up here without knowing what you were going to do? Are you freaking suicidal?"

"No, I'm just sick of sitting there and doing nothing for the rest of my life. And I think we ought to find out where exactly they are and if they have any plans, then try to take back the castle."

"Just the two of us?" She raised an eyebrow doubtfully and ran a finger under her eye to check for smudged make up. "I don't think that's going to work."

But Neville rambled on without listening, "Or work out a way to get everyone out of here. That should probably be our priority."

Liv still looked dubious, but kept her mouth shut.

"I think that we should start with the Great Hall. It's really the only place."

"All right, then. Let's do it."

–––

The wall was still white, the bed was still lumpy, and Hermione was still bored out of her mind. Several times in the last hour she had contemplated leaving to confront Helena, but she had not yet reached the level of boredom required to stop sulking.

Which was precisely why she was more than slightly relieved when Helena burst in with an explosion of energy.

"All right, girl, you've had your chance to be alone. Out."

With the practiced ease of any teenaged girl, Hermione's only response was to glare.

"Don't give me your sauce. You aren't nearly as good at that as my son was. You should be grateful for this."

"Grateful?" Hermione snorted. "You betrayed us–mostly Severus, but me as well–and then took me out of a place where I could have been useful. Now I'm stuck up here, for all I know everyone else is dead, and I have to help _you_ serve Voldemort. I'd be grateful if hell opened up and swallowed you in front of my eyes, but that's about it."

Helena tugged at a piece of her hair and Hermione briefly felt a flash of something run through her. "You silly girl," she snapped, and for the first time Hermione could see the resemblance to Severus. "I didn't take you here to remove you from aiding your friends and I certainly have no desire to help that man downstairs who has managed to convince himself that he is among the gods. I thought that giving you the means to escape would make you understand–as I had hoped, I see you haven't used it–but clearly that isn't enough. There is nothing that you can do there that is not already being done."

"And what am I supposed to be doing here? So far, I've sat on my bed and sulked, which isn't doing _anybody _any favours."

"I'm giving you a chance to save all of their lives!" Whatever small amount of patience she had was apparently at its end. "You contacted your precious Order, did you not? And I was about to give you one further task that could aid young Mr Potter in his final duty."

Hermione threw herself off of the bed, tendrils of hair snaking out around her as though they embodied her fury. "Harry is bloody _brain dead._ Comatose. He's not here. We can't get through to him and the only way he's going to do something is if Ginny tells him to. The only thing they've got going for them is the protection of the Shield, but that's a mutual thing and it's probably already turned into a giant bloodbath."

Helena chuckled, and Hermione found herself partly soothed and partly chilled at the sound. "Well, my dear, I won't deny that you are probably right about the latter part, but unless I am very much mistaken your friend downstairs is very much alive and cognisant of what is taking place around him."

A disbelieving sound was quickly followed by a gasp when Hermione realised that the woman was serious. "What–how did it happen? When? How do you know?"

"I performed a rather simple healing procedure while I was down there. His mind, you see, fragmented, presumably after the attack on Severus. The stress of the Imperius Curse, fortunately, counteracted the process enough that I was able to piece it together but you may find there are holes in his memory…"

"What do you mean when you say his mind… Never mind. Tell me this later–what can I do _now_? And how is he going to kill Voldemort if magic no longer works on anyone down there?"

"The same way that you can kill any man, my dear. You may just need a more powerful weapon."

Hermione recognized that Helena was trying to tell her without specifics and strained her mind. It remained blank for a brief moment before an idea took shape. "Oh," she said, doubtfully at first but her confidence in it rapidly grew. "Oh!" Racing to the door, she shot a look over her shoulder quizzically.

"You are free to go. I have my own preparations to make."

–––

"So, my werewolf friend, do you think that you're ready for this?" Charlie clapped a hand on Remus's shoulder, making him jump slightly. He was still mulling carefully over Moody's instructions, determined not to forget even the comma that he had inserted into his third sentence. He had once heard that commas had the ability to save lives.

"I certainly hope so."

"Are we a group?" Charlie asked. "Once we find our third person, I mean."

"Sounds good."

"Great." The redhead spun around to look for someone who had not yet had the chance to follow the old Auror's instructions. "Hey, Tonks! You free?"

She had been standing in the midst of everyone, looking bewildered, and was now tripping over the coffee table in her haste to no longer be without a group. "Now I'm not," she replied cheerfully. "Does anyone else feel like a first year again?"

Charlie laughed and put an arm around her shoulder. "Nah. I've always enjoyed the buddy system. Sometimes, when I'm bored, I make all the other dragon tamers line up in single file and we walk around the camp just for fun."

"I'll bet you do."

Watching them tease each other, Remus found himself experiencing an odd, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he was confused, but it didn't take long for him to realise where it was coming from. He could feel Agrippa staring at him in curiosity, but, surprisingly, he felt no desire to shoot her a smug look. Instead, he simply forced himself to focus on the important things and block out any personal delusions he might have allowed himself.

–––

Hermione slipped through the corridors, heart hammering at the prospect that if she was caught, this could be the end. Several times, she thought that she heard an approach and flattened herself against the wall or slipped behind a suit of armour, but each time it was a false alarm. After finding herself huddled in a doorway for the sixth time, she realised what a prat she was being. Mentally kicking herself, she murmured the incantation for a cloaking spell and continued onward with less trepidation.

The entrance to Dumbledore's office, however, was not so simple. She recognized that there was the possibility he had sealed it off before, but could only hope that he hadn't the time.

"Lemon sherbet," she said, praying for the obvious.

The gargoyle only stared stonily ahead.

"Fizzing Whizbees?"

Sill, nothing.

"Chocolate truffles? Turkish Delight? Cockroach Clusters? Pear drops? Humbugs?" After nearly a quarter of an hour spent guessing, she stopped, feeling frustrated and slightly ridiculous. Angrily, she snapped, "Look, I've got a Sugar Quill in my pocket and I'll graffiti you with it if you don't bloody move."

The gargoyle blinked and hopped aside, leaving her free to climb the staircase. She had only been in Dumbledore's office with other people present–now that she was alone, the temptation to simply poke around was almost overwhelming. Gritting her teeth, she fought it and headed straight for the case next to the desk, where Godric Gryffindor's sword was on display.

"Hi, Fawkes," she said absently as she fumbled with the lock, casting several spells in an attempt to open it. "Why are you still in here?"

The phoenix preened himself, keeping an eye firmly fixed on the girl. She continued to struggle with the case, wishing that she was the sort of girl who wore hairpins. When it became clear that magic was ineffective, she began opening desk drawers, hunting for a key.

"You won't find it in there, my dear," said a voice, nearly making her heart stop. A quick glance confirmed that no one appeared to be in the room.

"Where are you?" she asked, voice shaking.

A waving portrait caught her eye. "Where else would I be?" it asked crossly.

"Oh," she said in relief. "I thought you were a person."

"I most certainly _am_," the man said, sounding affronted. "And I _was _going to tell you where the key is, but I don't think I shall now."

"Oh, Geoffrey, shove a sock in it," a woman snapped from a few frames away. "Anyone can see the poor girl is desperate. At any rate, it's the Headmaster that has the key. He keeps it with him always."

"Fuck," Hermione swore, deciding that if there had ever been a time for crude language, it was now. But rather than making her feel disheartened, she was growing angry. She was not going to die by Voldemort's hand because Dumbledore didn't have the good sense to make copies of his keys.

A battleaxe was sitting on the shelf below the Sorting Hat's perch. Her rage gave her enough strength to lift it and fling it across the room. It slammed against the case, shattering the glass.

"Good girl," the portrait of the witch said approvingly.

Hermione didn't respond. Instead, she marched furiously across the room, reaching into the glass shards and yanking out the sword. She was halfway out the door, when she glanced down and noticed the trail of blood that was behind her.

"Brilliant," she announced. "I've slit my bloody wrist."

Something dripped on it and, before her eyes, the cut closed without leaving so much as a scab. She looked up to where Fawkes was hovering and smiled grimly.

"Thanks."

He looked at her expectantly and she began to feel a bit better.

"Well, are you coming with me?" she asked. "They need you down there more than I do."

If birds could manage disgusted looks, Hermione would have sworn that she had received one.

–––

Draco felt as though he had been running forever, yet the Death Eaters that he was following showed no signs of letting up. The only comfort that he still had was the fact that Ginny was still probably bounding infinitely more quickly, far ahead of where they currently were, but it was rapidly being overcome by the stitch that had developed in his side. He was about to pause and walk, before something nearly stopped his heart and made him pick his pace back up to a sprint.

Crashing sounds, startled yells, and snarling echoing through the otherwise silent corridor, violent and unmistakable.

–––

"Keep up, boy," Minerva snapped, waving her lit wand vaguely in Percy's direction. "And don't tell me that you're tired already. We've only just begun."

He only grunted in reply, but within a few seconds had caught up to his two companions.

Professor Vector sighed next to her. "Are you certain that bringing him along was a good idea?"

"Septima, I am perfectly aware of the fact that, beside a certain skill in pomposity, he is useless. But if anyone in that hole that we have been living in is going to be put in danger, he is going to be a part of it. I don't buy Albus's nonsense regarding forgiveness when the object of it remains unrepentant. Besides, a human shield could potentially be useful."

Septima bit her lip, looking concerned. "This isn't like you, Minerva… It's too–"

"What? Cold? Calculating?" The older woman's face was set and the dim wand light emphasized the lines that had etched themselves into her face. "I'm perfectly aware of it."

They lapsed into silence, continuing their ascent upwards for what felt like an age. When they finally reached the top, Minerva held the door open for her companions and waved them through, following close behind. Casting a tracking spell, she looked down the line of blue fire where Neville Longbottom had apparently walked.

"This way," she announced briskly. "Mr Weasley, I want you in front. Septima, keep your wand out."

–––

The sight that greeted them when they reached the Great Hall was one of blood-stained confusion and, although it was clear that the Death Eaters present were not the complete population of Voldemort's followers, it was painfully obvious that Ron, Severus, and Harry, who had formed a tight defensive circle, were badly outnumbered.

"Now what?" Liv asked, biting her lip. "You can't be thinking of–"

But Neville had already snatched a spear from the nearest suit of armour and abandoned the small degree of caution that he had maintained.

"Who said anything about thinking?" he called back to her, throwing himself into the fray.

–––

In a barely visible mass of fur, the wolf leapt from person to person, trying to take down as many as she could manage while she still had the advantage of surprise. Blood matted itself into her fur as it sprayed out of one man's jugular, she crippled another by smashing his knee. With unnatural speed, she dodged weapons and would have taken them all, if a voice that cried out to the girl in her hadn't caught her attention.

"Ginny!"

Before she had a chance to think, she found herself crouched on the stone floor, naked and staring into frozen grey eyes that peered down a spear at her from a face frighteningly like one that she knew well.

"Father, don't. Please."

Without moving or changing the direction of his gaze, Lucius Malfoy replied, "You are a fool. Do not attempt to sway me with childish pleas."

The bit of cold steel digging into her arm made her gasp, and the man towering over her twitched his lips into a smile. "Not nearly so brave now, I see."

The tip of the spear traced its way up her arm and across her chest, leaving a thin scratch, until it was hovering over her heart.

"Father…" Draco's voice was no longer weak, but had taken on a harsh, raspy tone that gave Ginny the notion he was issuing a warning.

"I told you to stay out."

Without warning, Lucius's weapon jerked upwards, piercing Ginny in the shoulder. Surprised, he turned around to face his son, revealing to Ginny the sword that was shoved in his back. Still numb from shock, she stood and gasped.

"You taught me to always do what I had to, Father," Draco said impassively. "You have only yourself to blame."

The look that crossed the older man's face was filled with both bemusement and–for the first time–pride. "Then clearly I managed to teach you something," he tried to sneer, but the pain was too much. He crumpled, bleeding, to the floor and his eyes glassed over as his breathing stopped.

It was only then that Draco noticed Ginny's injury. "Merlin, Gin, are you all right?"

Pain began to soak through her finally, and she winced. "Do I look bloody okay to you?"

"Look, sit down. I'll try to fix it." He reached over to pull the spear out, but she caught his hand.

"Don't. It's the only thing that's stopping the bleeding. Just leave it for now."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" he snapped, face turning white with worry. "Let you sit in the corridor with my dead father rotting next to you?"

She closed her eyes against another wave of pain. "Do you think you can move me to the hospital wing? There could be stores there that you can use. Even if it just stops the pain, that would be all right for now."

–––

Remus led the way through the Forbidden Forest, with Charlie and Tonks following close behind. So far, there had been no sign of anyone–on their side or otherwise. Charlie was still trying to decide whether or not this was a good thing when Tonks tripped over a rock, nearly stopping his heart. He stooped to help her up, straightening just in time to catch Remus sending them an odd look. Briefly, it filled Charlie with something strange and quivering, but he brushed it off and turned his attention back to the darkened forest.

"Do you have any idea _where _we are?" he hissed, concerned.

"About two hundred feet from the castle," came Remus's calm reply. "But we need to circle around behind it and take the south entrance, which is less likely to be guarded. From there, we'll enter the Great Hall, since that is the most likely place that we'll be able to attack. Everyone clear on that?"

Both Charlie and Tonks nodded and proceeded to continue trudging through the underbrush once more.

–––

The entrance to the Great Hall was blocked, but Hermione barely took notice as she slashed at the two guards–they were dead before they could so much as react. Stepping over the bodies, she hurled herself through the doors and stopped momentarily, seeking out first Severus and then Harry.

Once convinced that both were alive and well, she bolted forward again, screaming Harry's name as Fawkes soared overhead.

Harry's head jerked up as he heard a feral cry, just in time to see Hermione cut down the Death Eater that had been about to do likewise to him, Fawkes hovering slightly above her. She was waving a sword at him, yelling something about a weapon and Voldemort, but he couldn't make out the words properly. She snatched his weapon out of his hands and handed him something else–a brief glance down told him almost everything that he needed to know.

Almost.

"Hermione… How–"

She cut him off. "Give him hell, Harry."

He nodded and sprinted off to the dais, where Voldemort was watching from his post between two guards.

–––

"Neville! Where did you come from?"

Neville grinned at Ron, who he had just come up beside. "From underground. Didn't feel like waiting anymore."

A clueless look overtook the redhead's face. "Oh. Well. Want to help me kill some people?"

"Happily."

–––

Percy, held at wand point by the two witches, pushed through the main doors of the Great Hall.

"Oh!" Septima gasped, horrified at the sight that met her eyes.

A black haired boy engaged in combat with two burly men in silver robes. A wild-haired girl trying desperately to fight her way to a tall, pale man who was barely holding his own against three others. Two boys–one of them the one that they had been searching for–back-to-back.

Minerva stepped forward at the sight of this, numb to the bloodstained floor. As she did so, a sword plunged through Neville's stomach, simultaneously catching Ron. The startled expression on both faces was like a mirror image. She let out a wail and her legs gave out–Septima rushed forward and caught her.

Sensing that this might be his only opportunity, Percy seized and made to sprint out the door and back into the labyrinth of the castle.

"Get him," Minerva snarled, pain and fury carved into her features.

Without hesitating, the younger witch dropped her and ran after.

–––

Albus felt Minerva's call ring through him and, with a sudden, almost preternatural vitality, leapt to his feet and signalled the other adults in the area to come with him.

"What has happened?" Flius demanded, but he gave no answer, only led the way to the staircase and levitated them all upwards and a frightening speed.

"Poppy," he said once they had reached the top, "prepare the hospital wing as best you can. I have a feeling it will be needed."

She nodded grimly and headed in the opposite direction.

"The rest of us," Dumbledore continued, "are going to the Great Hall. _Now_."

–––

"Draco," Ginny murmured, her voice frighteningly lethargic.

He adjusted his wand so that she was hovering a little higher. "Yes?"

"I need… I need to tell you something. Can you promise not to hate me?"

His eyes stung. "I could never hate you, Ginny. What is it?"

She shook her head weakly. "You might. But I need to tell somebody." Tears began leaking down her face, but they were as dull and dry as she seemed to be just then. "You know when we were fighting? After… After that thing in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"When I put Harry under Imperius?"

"What about it?"

Wide-eyed, she whispered, "I didn't mean to do it, I swear. I was just… I was so lonely. And I missed you. And he was there and he didn't know anything and I just needed something… I needed to forget for a little bit and Harry was the only thing there."

A brief flash of horror shot through him as comprehension dawned on him. Ginny let out a sob and pain overcame her face at the sudden movement.

"And I'm really sorry and I want you to know because I can't lie anymore… Because if I get through this, I want you and me to have a chance and we can't if I don't tell you."

Compassion, however, eradicated whatever terror had been racing through him. "Ginny," he said softly. "It's okay. You will get through this, and we've always had a chance."

"You aren't angry?"

As he shook his head, a tiny smile curved across her face and she closed her eyes.

Then, so softly that he might have thought he imagined it if he hadn't seen her lips moving, she replied, "I love you."

–––

"Are you absolutely certain that you know where we are?" Tonks asked finally. "Because we should have been there ages ago."

Remus sighed, trying not to flush. "I may have accidentally turned around somewhere when I shouldn't have."

She sighed heavily. "Typical man."

"That's what you think," he muttered wryly, making Charlie snort suddenly.

"Well, what do you suggest we do?" she snapped.

"Use magic?" Charlie suggested with false brightness. "You know, a compass spell."

"Hardly helpful if we don't know what direction the castle is from here," Remus pointed out quietly. "I'm so sorry."

He took a few steps away, but Charlie grabbed him by the shoulder. "It's not your fault. We should have been paying attention too."

Tonks bit her lip. "Yeah," she agreed. "It's not just your fault. Why don't we levitate someone and see if they can tell where we should be going?"

Remus shrugged. "Sounds fine. How about I levitate you, since you're the lightest?"

She nodded. "Sounds all right. But if you drop me, that _will _be your fault."

All three of them chuckled nervously, and Remus said the incantation, raising her until she was peering over the tops of the trees.

"All right," she called down. "I see it! Bring me down. It's back in the direction that we just came from."

He let her down perhaps a bit too quickly and she landed with a thud.

"Sorry," he apologized, offering her a hand up.

She raised her eyebrows nearly to the point of her pink hairline. "I may be clumsy, but I'm not that bad. Let's go."

Remus hung back for a moment and massaged his forehead, wondering precisely how many other things could go wrong tonight. Before he could begin to catch up, however, a force bowled him over, leaving him sprawled on the forest floor.

"Charlie, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed as soon as he could recognize that the weight on top of him was, in fact, a person. He tried–and failed–to ignore the sudden rush that shot through him at the realisation.

"Look up," came the reply, and Remus obeyed, horrified to see something resembling searchlights scanning the forest slightly over top of their heads.

"Where's Nymphadora?"

"I'm here." The woman was dragging herself by the elbows over to where they were lying, Remus still trying to catch his breath.

"My guess is that they saw her when we were trying to find the castle."

"And you're probably right."

They lay there in silence, no one daring to move until the lights moved deeper into the forest, when Remus finally got up the courage to speak.

"Hey, Charlie, you know that thing I said tonight? If I die and you make it out, tell people, okay?"

"What thing?" Tonks asked.

"Seriously?" Charlie sounded astonished.

"Yeah. Inscribe it on my fucking tombstone or something."

"_What _thing?" Tonks repeated, slightly more frustrated.

"Oh, it's nothing," Charlie replied at the same time that Remus said, "I like men."

"Wow, you're really happy telling people that, aren't you?"

Tonks snorted. "Tell me something that I didn't know. Everybody with half a brain knew about you and Sirius… There were a lot of complaints about the moaning, trust me. Granted, the amount of time you spent with that girl's mother threw some people a bit, but I was always holding out for you."

"You mean…" He trailed off momentarily in shock. "You mean, they knew and didn't care?"

"Well," she said with a bit of a smirk, "Molly was more than slightly concerned and seemed to have the idea of setting us up firmly emblazoned in her mind, but it wasn't something anyone else seemed to make into an issue. It's not this rare thing like you seem to think–Merlin, why do you think that Moody doesn't seem to have any romantic interests?"

"No kidding," Charlie chuckled. "Old Mad-Eye? Who is it, then?"

"Some guy in the Department of Mysteries. I met him once. Nice man."

The three of them lapsed into silence briefly, before Tonks broke it. "So, are we just waiting here?"

"For a while longer," Remus answered. "Give them a chance to loose interest."

"Sounds exciting," Charlie yawned. "Just don't let me fall asleep."

"Be careful," Tonks teased. "You've got two people here who might decide to take advantage of you."

"That could be fun."

–––

"Neville?" Ron turned around, horrified. There was a deep scratch in his left side, but he had otherwise managed to avoid injury. The sight of his friend, impaled and ashen, made him momentarily forget the pain that he was in. "Neville! Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine. It's only a flesh wound," he gasped.

"Of course you will." The words echoed hollowly; both of them knew it was a lie.

Neville was breathing a word weakly that sounded to Ron like, "Live."

"Of course you'll live," he said. "Just calm down."

The other boy was staring intently at something just to the right of him and Ron turned, but nothing was there. A choking sound made him turn his attention back to Neville, who was fading quickly.

–––

Liv held out her hand, helping Neville to his feet. Around them, the battle was still raging, but she didn't seem to be noticing.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he remarked, feeling for the wound on his stomach.

"Of course it doesn't," she replied. "You're past that now."

"Am I dead?" He felt a brief flash of surprise, but oddly enough, nothing else.

She motioned her hand down, to behind where he was standing. He turned and something twisted inside of his stomach at the sight of Ron's grief-stricken face.

"How come you're still here? Or am I a ghost?"

Liv's kohl-lined eyes crinkled slightly into a smile. "You're not a ghost. I'm here because you made me-I am a part of who you are-and because you needed me, but I've also existed for much longer than that. I'm an idea, Neville."

Neville nodded, not entirely sure that he understood. He decided not to worry about it for now. "So, that was life then?"

"Yes, that was it."

"What happens now?"

She took his hand in hers, brushing strands of hair away from her face with the other one. "I guess that you're about to find out."

She led him through the middle of the fight and, as he passed the people that he knew, made sure to preserve each one's face carefully in his memory. The front doors burst open just as the approached them, heralding the arrival of the Order of the Phoenix and Neville was slightly horrified as they rushed in, passing straight through himself and Liv. Before leaving the Great Hall, he turned around to take one last look at it before moving on.

"I'm not sad," he told Liv. "I thought I would be, but I'm not really. I mean, I guess that I wish it didn't have to end, but it would have sooner or later anyway."

She rested a hand on his shoulder. "You mean that there was nothing more that you wanted to do?"

"No. There were loads of things that I didn't have time for but it's okay, I guess."

"Good," she said. "You're one of the few people who doesn't fight this."

"Well," he responded, an impish grin on her face, "I did lose my virginity, at least."

A delighted giggle escaped her and, simultaneously, they passed through the foyer and out the doors of Hogwarts, into a world in which everything was unknown.

–––

The rear entrance to the Great Hall loomed eerily in front as Remus, Charlie, and Tonks approached, eying it warily.

"That was really almost too easy," she remarked. "The hardest thing about that was a searchlight."

Charlie nodded his agreement. "What do you think is waiting for us in there?"

Remus smiled grimly. "That's something I think I'd rather not consider right now."

They had now reached the door, but no one was making any move toward opening it. Instead, the three of them gazed up at it, statue-still in silent contemplation. The only sound that reached Lupin's ears was a buzzing coming from inside that might be from human voices.

Still, they didn't even twitch.

It was Charlie who finally lost patience. Raising his hands and announcing, "What the hell," he jerked his entire body. But rather than opening the door, he turned to Remus and thrust him roughly against the wall.

Surprised, Remus resisted for half a second, dimly aware of Tonks's brief noise of surprise, but then there was only the scratching of stubble as Charlie's mouth fastened on his and the violent need to return the favour. He closed his eyes, overcome by the fact that something felt right for once-this wasn't manipulative or a one-time encounter in a dive bar.

This time, there might not even be a _chance_ of a next time.

–––

The kiss was growing ridiculously long. It had been cute, Nymphadora admitted to herself, for the first five minutes. However, she was beginning to wonder at the fact that they hadn't drowned each other in saliva.

"Boys."

They both shot away from each other, somewhat guiltily avoiding the partly annoyed, partly amused look on Nymphadora's face.

"You two had _plenty_ of time in the Forbidden Forest to make out, especially considering that you could have cut the sexual tension with a knife."

"Sorry," Charlie said, but he was looking at Remus as he said it. "I just... I needed that."

"We've got a battle to go fight right now," she reminded them, incredulous that they seemed to be able to forget this.

The other man pushed back his hair, panting slightly. "_Please_ tell me you're gay. It wouldn't be fair, otherwise."

"If I was straight and wanted to kiss someone, there's a perfectly viable option right here."

"Thanks, lads." She rolled her eyes, steeling herself to go bursting into the Great Hall alone. "Glad you think I'm 'viable', but we can chat about our sexual preferences _after_ You-Know-Who is dead and chopped into tiny pieces."

"I mean, really," Charlie continued obliviously, "you couldn't tell that I have a crush on you?"

"Yes. Very good. I just observed that with the words _sexual tension_," Tonks half-shouted. "Now if you don't bloody mind..."

"You did?" The surprise in Remus's voice was palpable. "Agrippa kept cracking jokes about it, but I just thought she was amusing herself."

"I don't tell just anyone about my carrot phobia," Charlie replied with a touch of irony.

"Boys!" she roared, finally catching their attention. "Talk. About. This. Later. Right now, we need to go kill people in funny-looking masks."

"Oh, shit!" Remus swore. "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

He led the charge, nearly forgetting to open the door as he sprinted towards it, Charlie following close behind.

"Right," she muttered, picking up the rear. "Now that he's got someone to live for and defend, he's all manly. Typical sodding male."

–––

Hermione was surprised how easily this fighting concept was coming to her. While she wouldn't go so far as to consider herself skilled or graceful when handling something large and pointy, impaling people on in seemed to be a natural talent.

It did not, however, seem to come quite so easily to the Death Eater with whom she was sparring-if you could, in fact, properly call it that. Right now, the only advantage that he seemed to have over her was that of about two hundred pounds.

"What, did you join for the free Jaffa Cakes?" she asked. It was cruel, she knew. And probably tasteless. Oddly, however, she found that she didn't particularly care.

He snarled at her, something that might have been more frightening if his Death Eater mask hadn't been hanging off of one side of his head.

"I've heard that His Lordship up there has a fondness for sweets to rival the Headmaster's," she continued, trying to keep her breathing even. "Tell me, does he share, or do you have to buy your own with the pocket money he gives you?"

He stumbled back, tripping on the hem of his robe, and she shoved the sword into his stomach. A strangled, choking sound came out of his throat that might have been a plea.

"Or do you just enjoy killing us Mudbloods?" she asked coldly, thrusting it in a second time and not so much as flinching when blood ran from between his lips.

She had just turned around to seek out her next victim when a sudden cold descended over the room. The clamouring stopped as members of the Order and Death Eaters alike turned to the place where Harry and Voldemort were standing, both with a look of surprise on their faces.

"Oh, don't think of stopping on account of_ me_," Helena said cheerfully from the right of Harry.

Somewhere behind her, Hermione heard Severus mutter, "I'm going to bloody kill that woman."

Afraid that he would attempt to follow through, she spun around and sought him out, catching him by the wrist as he began to move forward. "Don't. She's on our side," she hissed. "I think," came as an afterthought.

She felt the tension flow out of him and breathed a silent sigh of relief at the realisation that he wasn't about to do something idiotic.

"No, really," Helena continued. "Continue, please. I'm really rather interested to see how this ends-if it is able to end at all."

"Who the hell _are_ you?" Harry burst out in something close to disgust.

"Someone that you really should be thanking," she replied. "But rather than asking questions, you also really should be putting that sword of yours to use."

Hermione gasped as Voldemort lunged forward, but Harry managed to dodge aside just in time to send him reeling forward. As if on cue, the rest of the battle picked up where it had left off.

–––

Claw-like fingernails dug into Percy's arms as Minerva McGonagall stared him down, eyes filled with a burning emotion that terrified him. She spoke, and her voice was a hoarse mingling of grief-stricken rage and determination so powerful that the words nearly became secondary.

"You have been a bit more than foolish." She turned him to look at the bloody scene before him. "I have no qualms about blaming you for this entire situation. Without you, the Shield could have given us an advantage without needless bloodshed. Without you, _none_ of this would have happened."

Guilt started in his stomach and grew upwards, twining until it was wrapped throughout his insides and squeezing his lungs until he couldn't breathe.

"Your brother is down there, wounded-maybe even dead. Did you consider that?"

He had. In fact, he had been attempting to block that sight from replaying in his mind since the moment it had happened. He did not, however, say as much. There was no longer enough air in his lungs to speak.

"Minerva." Vector's voice was half warning, half concern. She repeated it, when the older woman took no notice, this time with more than a touch of urgency. "_Minerva!_"

Both he and McGonagall jerked up simultaneously, to see Bellatrix Lestrange, hair in tatters, tearing towards her with a spear in hand. If someone were to ask him what happened in that next moment, he would not have been answer with any degree of certainty. Perhaps he leapt in between Vector and Lestrange, perhaps Minerva pushed him; both of them were equally shocked when the spear pierced through him, releasing the vine of guilt's grip on his lungs enough that he could suck in one last breath of air.

As Helena had spoken, she had raised a shield of her own around the two who were facing off in the centre of the dais. Now, she watched. Almost mirror images of one another, red eyes reflected in green as they fought, oblivious to those who attempted to enter their circle and failed with a harsh yell. Fumbling attempts at parries and lunges on both sides pitted natural athleticism against psychological manipulation; there was no question in her mind who would win. It was a matter of commonsense, not prophecy-but the process was still diverting.

Her smile widened as the rest of the room grew still once more, silently watching the battle that had the potential to define the rest of their lives.

Sweat dripped in his eyes and down his arms as he struggled to focus on his opponent rather than the searing pain shooting through limbs that had barely been used for months. Words were reaching him from across the circle; he tried and failed to block them out.

'... if indeed it is you at all. Are you still being controlled by that she-wolf that you have fought so hard to protect? So much effort, yet still she only wanted you on her terms, to suit her needs..."

Something in this struck Harry and, inwardly, he flinched as memories best left undisturbed came flooding back.

"And yet still you want to save them. They knew. They all knew and did nothing."

Had they? There was no way to be certain, but suspicion was worming its way into the pit of his stomach, making him lose his footing even as something told him that this was the sole intention.

"You know that it is true."

In spite of himself, suspicion was transforming into belief, but he knew that he couldn't stop fighting. Especially not now that he was on the defensive.

"Stop now and I promise that you may have whatever retribution you desire. Your parents didn't die to give you a life of subservience."

Harry had been in the process of lowering his sword, but the final sentence brought it up again in a flurry of violence and rage, knocking the weapon from Voldemort's hand and decapitating him in the same swing.

Looking down with disgust at the body that was oozing out the sticky, black blood of something that had no longer been human, he commented to it, "You'd think that you would have learned. I suppose I could now actually put your foot in your mouth, but that would really emphasize the irony a little too much."

He turned away, then, and broke out of Helena's circle, walking with a rigid back out of the Great Hall, not bothering to survey the damage that lay behind him. A gaping hole had formed somewhere just beneath his large intestine and he found that he longed for his previous oblivion.

By the time that Dumbledore led the rest of the teachers madly into the room, the situation was almost entirely under control. Much to everyone's relief but their own, the Order had taken charge of the situation, holding the prisoners in organised groups and finding aid for the wounded. Ron was being carried out on a stretcher and arguing with the person tending to him, while Harry, Ginny, and Draco were nowhere in sight. Hermione, out of sheer luck, had emerged relatively unscathed and was now sitting against a wall next to Severus, who was bearing a few minor scratches.

The death of Voldemort had more or less signified the end of the battle-there had been a more or less mutual and unspoken agreement on both sides to end the fighting, with the exception of a couple extremists, who had been tackled and subdued by Order members and Death Eaters alike. Nobody really wanted to prolong this more than necessary.

Hermione started in surprise at the feeling of hands twining around hers and glanced over at Severus.

"I don't care," he said firmly. "The people who don't already know will find out soon enough. I'm half expecting a two page spread in the Prophet."

She grinned a little tiredly. "I'd almost be insulted if they didn't. Otherwise, who is left in the world to preserve the virtue of young witches?"

He gave a snort and closed his eyes.

"It's okay," she said. "We're alive. Both of us."

"Yes," he agreed. "It would seem that we are."

Overcome by a sudden and inexplicable need, she rotated until she was facing him and planted a kiss on his mouth. It wasn't perhaps the most skilled or romantic kiss she had ever performed, but buried beneath it was a feral joy born out of relief that drew both of their minds onwards, to other things, and kept it from being an abysmal failure.

It was really rather nice, she reflected, wondering how quickly they would be able to negotiate safe passage to privacy and finding that she, too, no longer cared about the onlookers. They were all prudes, anyway.

A/N: Well, there is the battle for you. Since I have no prior fight-writing experience (yes, for the most part, I am a hippie that enjoys skipping through fields of flowers with narcotic properties), I apologise for any inconsistencies, confusion, and general screw-ups. Much like the characters, I opted for throwing myself in, merrily hacking around until I hit a jugular or something of the like and hoping that I didn't end up being damaged in the process. If you missed the Monty Python reference, shame on you… I am a firm believer that no battle involving pointy things is complete without the line, "Only a flesh wound." Liv, in case anyone is wondering, was initially inspired by one of my favourite Neil Gaiman characters (if you guess correctly I'll give you a cookie, even though it should be fairly obvious and you probably won't enjoy my baking), although she is certainly not a precise representation of that character… She refuses to tell me exactly what she is. Anyway, next chapter is a return to the things that I much prefer, including a confrontation between Ginny and Harry, Hermione and Snape discussing their future, and Agrippa generally expressing smugness as Molly looks on in horror.


	26. 25 Memento Mori

Disclaimer: All the usual. "Rwanda? That's in Africa, isn't it?" comes from Romeo Dallaire's stunning account of the Rwandan genocide, _Shake Hands With the Devil_. Go read it.

A/N: Thanks to Kisou for the wonderful beta job, and to thehalflie for helping me out with the bits on the Rwandan genocide. Sorry about my horrible slowness.

Perfection

Chapter 25: Memento Mori

Ron was dreaming; he was perfectly aware of the fact. However, in spite of his lucidity, it didn't feel like a dream, and he found that odd, especially given the circumstances that his dream-self was in. He was sitting cross-legged in a circle with Neville, Fleur Delacour, of all people, and a black-haired girl that he didn't know. They were playing a hand-clapping game. Ron had his hands resting on the black-haired girl's and Fleur's knees and as the former chanted, they clapped their right hand over to the person on the left.

The game continued in a dizzying circle, picking up speed until Ron could hardly keep up. Mesmerised, he allowed himself to be caught up in it, abandoning himself to the rhythm and letting his mind slip free.

"Weasley? _Weasley?_"

The voice was Draco's, and she could tell that he was scared. Ginny struggled to pull herself from sleep. Still only half-awake, she shot up into a sitting position and was jolted into full awareness by an intense pain in her shoulder.

"Dra—Fuck!"

She sank back onto the pillows, realising that "Weasley" hadn't been referring to her at all, but Ron, who was two beds over, yelling frantically in his sleep. At the sound of her voice, he jerked around, pushing pieces of hair out of his face and smiling wearily.

"You're awake."

"Observant of you," she remarked dryly, trying to breathe as best she could through the pain. "I sort of wish that I wasn't."

He winced. "This probably won't move me up in your list of favourite people, but it turns out that the anaesthetic I gave you actually delayed the healing process. Pomfrey's doing the best she can, but it will take a while."

She scowled back at him. "Well, I'm the one who told you to give it to me and it worked well enough for easing the pain. Just promise me that you won't ever heal people professionally."

Ron let out another cry, interrupting their banter—the anguish in it sent chills down Ginny's spine.

"Is he okay?"

Draco responded with a slow nod. "He's got a fairly serious abdominal wound, but it should be all right. He's woken up a few times and it doesn't seem to be that that's bothering him."

She furrowed her brow. "Why? What happened?"

"Longbottom, Gin. Your brother was with him when he died—the only reason Ron survived was because he took the worst of the hit."

Something inside of her withered without warning, and she had to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. "Not Neville," she whispered in a pained voice. "He didn't deserve that."

He placed a hand on hers to calm its trembling. "I don't think anyone really does. If he had only…"

"What?"

"Dumbledore had everyone underground in the castle's secret tunnels, but Longbottom—thick bastard—decided to leave and, well, I've already told you the rest."

They sat in perfect silence for a moment, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. She tried to read his expression, decipher what was going through his mind, but it was impassive. She was just about to let herself drift back into sleep when a grin broke out on his features.

"You haven't heard the exciting news, though!" he exclaimed, eyes lighting up with conspiracy. "It seems that your_ brother_ has a little thing going with Lupin."

This time, she managed to restrain herself from sitting up too quickly. "_What?_ Which brother?"

"Charlie," he replied smugly. "I walked in on them snogging after the battle ended. You know that they say one in ten… One of you Weasleys was bound to be eventually."

She let out a faint giggle. "And?"

"That's it. I ran away once my poor, scarred eyes registered the fact and I have a feeling that they want to keep it hushed up."

"I'd say," Ginny agreed, biting her lower lip in concern. "Mum's going to kill the bugger."

———

Agrippa hugged her coat more tightly around herself, pressing the cell phone tight to her ear as she said her goodbyes. She didn't want to forget a moment of this conversation, didn't want to lose one single, vital detail. Her ticket to freedom was hanging up on the other end and as she pressed the button to end the discussion, she felt a sense of elation fill her.

Five months. Five months until Africa.

She lingered outside a moment longer, not sure whether she wanted to rejoin the celebrations just yet. She understood that they were happy; she only wished that she could properly understand why. Her only direct emotional investment in the situation had been the survival of her daughter and Remus. That the realisation of this hope had now been fulfilled left her with the choking sort of relief that she couldn't bring herself to express with anything but the tight, wordless hug that mother and daughter had already shared.

Hermione had Severus; Agrippa had herself.

Something, too, had changed with Remus. She hadn't had a chance to drag him off yet and ask what, but something in her lower abdomen told her that it had to do with Charlie. And while she was genuinely happy for her friend, she wished that it didn't leave her feeling so horribly alone.

She heard the creaking of a door behind her and turned to see Remus carrying a mug towards her.

"I brought you some tea," he said.

"With milk?"

"And two sugars. Do you have a moment? I'd like to talk."

With those words, all the fear and insecurity that she had been trying to brush aside rolled off of her shoulders, giving her room to properly straighten her back. "For you? Always."

He sat down on the front steps, patting the space next to her and pointing his wand at it, muttering something. She sank down next to him, surprised at the warmth, and leaned against his shoulder.

"Something happened, didn't it?" she asked. "With Charlie?"

Remus nodded. "You guessed. Of course you did."

"You are an open book to me," she teased. "You'll never have another secret as long as you live."

He laughed throatily and continued. "Well, something happened and nothing happened. I mean, we've kissed a couple of times, but nothing else. And he told me that he's gay—"

"Ha!" she interrupted, then looked sheepish. "Sorry, continue."

"And that he's interested. But I don't know… Am I ready for it?"

She snorted with laughter. "You have got to be joking. If it's about what's-his-name, well, he's dead. Get over it."

Remus looked embarrassed.

"Do you like the boy?" she asked firmly. "Because that's really all that matters. Are _you _interested in him? Just be selfish for a moment and ask yourself, if you could have him, would you?"

"Of course I would."

"Well, if he's already made it clear that he's interested, then you _can _have him."

His eyes glazed over with a strange look of wonder, as though he was really seeing her for the first time. "Agrippa," he said with a half-smile, "if you were a man, I'd love you."

She giggled. "Honestly, I'm just hoping that I get a threesome out of this somehow."

"At the rate you're going, I'm going to have to arrange that."

They sat for a moment in companionable silence, until Agrippa turned and looked at him. "Seriously, though—I really believe that you deserve someone who can make you properly happy." She leaned over, kissing him on the cheek. "You've been the best person to have around that I could have possibly asked for. Thank you."

He wrapped his bare hand around her gloved one and squeezed it gently. "Thank _you_," he replied, "for helping me work myself out."

There was another silence as they leaned into each other, both wrapped up in their own thoughts.

"What if," she said slowly, chewing on her words before she released them, "I told you that I'm going to Rwanda in June?"

He let out a whoop and hugged her. "I'd say, 'Rwanda? That's in Africa, isn't it?'"

Her eyes lit up, giving a renewed vigour to her face that hadn't been there for years. "Of course it is, you sod."

———

Hermione was languishing on the bed, enjoying the feel of cool air on bare skin. Severus was asleep next to her, tangled in the sheets that he had stolen from her, and she gazed fondly at him through drooping eyes.

She hadn't managed a decent night of sleep for two days, since the battle with Voldemort, and couldn't work out why. Her conscious was clear—you couldn't feel much guilt about killing someone who had been about to kill you—and while she did feel mildly bad over taking advantage of some poor boy's fondness for Jaffa Cakes in order to run a sword through him, it was hardly something that should be keeping her up at night. She supposed that she could mark it down to the strange predicament that she now found herself in; she wasn't entirely sure that she had wrapped her head around the concept that there was no longer any imminent danger lurking just round the bend. In fact, that was the most likely cause of her current state of confusion.

With a sigh, she raised herself off of the bed, wrapping Severus's dressing gown around her tightly and wandering out into the corridor. In the early hours of the morning, Grimmauld Place was completely devoid of sound and movement—she wasn't sure if she found this more disturbing or comforting. Making her way down the stairs, she was about to head into the kitchen when she noticed a light on in the drawing room. Confused, she pushed the door fully open and was surprised to see her mother curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine and a stack of papers on the coffee table next to her.

"Mum?" she asked. "Why are you still up?"

The older woman jerked into awareness, smiling faintly. "I could be asking you the same question."

"Can't sleep."

"Same here." Agrippa set aside the papers that she had been holding in her lap and beckoned her daughter over. "Why don't you grab a glass out of that cabinet and have some wine?"

Hermione obeyed, settling herself into an armchair and allowing her mother to pour. She sipped at the sweet, red liquid and closed her eyes. "Why are there three glasses out already?"

"Remus and Charlie were down here a while ago. They've long since gone to bed."

"Ah…"

She wondered why she should find it odd that her mother had made friends with wizards—it was mildly disturbing that she, of all people, should have these barriers between 'Muggle' and 'magic' constructed in her mind.

"What's the paperwork for?" she asked finally.

Agrippa sighed and adjusted her reading glasses. "I've decided to take part in an aid mission to Rwanda in a few months and I've got to fill out all sorts of forms… I'm also doing some background reading on the situation."

"Rwanda?" Hermione repeated, surprised. She had never pegged her mother for a humanitarian. "Wasn't there a genocide there a few years back?"

The other woman nodded. "The entire country's been ripped apart. And I suppose that I won't actually be in Rwanda—a refugee camp in Eastern Zaire, I think Jeanine said."

"Er, Mum, you do know that by 'refugee camp' this woman meant living in tents with minimal luxury and probably no running water, right?"

Agrippa only laughed. "And here I was expecting a five star hotel. Darling, I'm perfectly aware what I'm getting myself into."

"Just checking."

Picking her wine glass off of the table, Agrippa grinned. "How do you feel about buying a goat?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "For a pet?"

"No, a village," she said with a snort.

Seeing the way her mother's eyes lit up, Hermione couldn't help but feel herself becoming almost as excited. While the news was certainly surprising, it was no shock that Agrippa was setting out to change things; everyone had to move on, eventually.

She wondered briefly whether she was, in fact, advancing by making the decision to leave with Helena come summer. Several times the possibility had struck her that she was running away, and she couldn't quite dismiss the thought fully. However, she also recognised that Severus was essentially the only tie she had left here—she hadn't spoken to her father for a year, her mother was going to Africa, and while she would miss her friends, they didn't have the same relationship that they had once shared—and he was the one insisting that she go.

Her mother reached over and touched her on the knee. "Is everything all right with you?"

Hermione sighed. "I'm not sure," she replied honestly. "I think that it is. Or, at least, it will be. And that's what is important, I suppose."

——

Ginny wasn't entirely sure where the idea had come from. Sometime during the night, she had found herself lying awake on the side that hadn't been pierced by a spear, with it firmly emblazoned in her mind and, now that it was morning, it seemed as though it weren't about to go away.

It wasn't that it was a bad idea; as a matter of fact, it was probably an extremely good idea. It was just that it would involve facing realities that she wished more than anything she could ignore.

It would involve examining the part of her that, until now, she had been content to simply allow to exist, but, more than that, it meant she might have to discover that the wolf in her wasn't solely to blame.

She hadn't mentioned the idea to Draco, merely asked Madam Pomfrey to see if Dumbledore would be willing to pay her a visit. She didn't particularly want to tell him until she knew whether she would be going to prison or not.

———

Harry was standing in silence out by the lake, watching the ripples on the water through streaked glasses. Sleet was coming down around him, melting before he could identify the shapes of the snowflakes that landed on his jacket. He felt as though he had been frozen to the spot for days, even though it had only been a matter of minutes. He fancied that, if he tried hard enough, he would be able to find that oblivious state he had existed in before the battle, that he could allow himself to slip back into the comfortingly empty void.

It was to no avail. With a heavy sigh, he sat down on a nearby log, ignoring the dampness that absorbed into his jeans. He was already almost completely wet through, anyway.

_Memories_. There were so many of them. How had he dealt with them before, their pressing need in the back of his retinas, blinding him, forcing him to only look behind.

He didn't want to look at all.

A crackling twig alerted him to another's presence. He jerked around at the suddenness of it and was surprised to see the woman from the battle. She raised a hand in greeting and approached.

"Mr Potter," she said, in a voice that felt as though it should be familiar.

"Who are you?" was his only response, flat and apathetic.

"Hardly the most important question to be asking," she responded, not appearing to take offence. It struck him that this might be how Dumbledore would have turned out had he been a woman and lacked a fondness for sherbet lemons.

"Why do I need to ask questions?" he snapped back. "If there's something I need to know, why don't you just give me the answer?"

"That hardly encourages personal growth," she reprimanded.

So she was Dumbledore with a sex change, if he had decided to become a shrink.

"Maybe I'm not looking for personal growth," he snarled. "Maybe I'm not looking for anything."

"And that," she replied, a sudden hint of steel in her voice, "is why I'm trying to give it to you. I know that you chose to sink into that state, and I'm perfectly aware that you want back in. Frankly, it's a wonder that you lasted as long as you did. I only pulled you out of it because a great deal of people, including my son—who I do happen to care about, never mind what he seems to believe—needed you to get them out of a certain situation that you and I are both aware of. I pieced your mind together for you, and, in the process, I saw a fair bit of what was in there, so don't go acting all mysterious and brooding on me, young man. It's hardly worse than what the rest of us have gone through."

"_You're _the one who…"

She pulled bits of hair off of her face. "Yes. And before you go asking, no, I won't undo it for you. But I can help you find the missing pieces."

Her eyes bored into him, making him feel as though she were pushing her way into his mind. It reminded him of Snape at his most piercing. "What missing pieces?"

She sank down next to him on the log. "I hope you don't mind. My strength isn't what it once was."

He shook his head.

"Boy," she said slowly, "for whatever reason, a few months ago your mind shattered. The immediate cause, I believe, was witnessing my son after he had been brutalised—"

"Hang on," Harry interrupted. "Snape is your _son_?"

"Well"—her mouth twisted wryly—"someone had to give birth to him. But that isn't the point. You saw him and your mind shattered."

"How can my mind 'shatter'?"

"Quite simply," she replied. "The same way anything breaks under too much stress. But that particular incident wasn't the full reason; it was something that anyone should have foreseen. I've managed to put it back together—glued it, if you will—but there are bits missing and it's cracked. And it's up to you to fix that."

As she spoke, he began to feel the extent of the icy breeze and closed his eyes against the sleet that was coming down harder. "But I don't want to. I don't want to remember things; I don't want to think about right and wrong. I don't want to be the fucking Boy Who Lived any more. If there are holes in my memory then, quite frankly, I want them to stay there because everything I do remember is bloody awful."

She only looked at him, something foreign that was almost like pity shining in her eyes. "Then I will only give you this advice: when you do want to look—and, sooner or later, you will—just remember that the fragments cannot leave your mind. If you dig enough, you will find them."

———

The game continued, growing more and more frenzied until the girl stopped chanting altogether, merely giggling as the three of them tried to keep up with her rapid movements. In unison, all four of them froze.

Ron found it mildly disturbing that he wasn't bothering to question his actions. He felt as though he had no control over himself; she was merely stringing him along as if he were a marionette.

"What's going on?" he finally asked. Only the black-haired girl seemed able to hear him.

"One of those questions that you should answer for yourself. It's _your _mind that the rest of us are sitting in."

Her gaze was surprisingly direct, but he was surprised to find that it was still filled with a sense of compassion for his confused predicament.

"If it's my head, why are you in charge?"

"I'm not in charge of a damn thing," she replied. "I'm in here because you invited me and, well, the other two are memories that were already in here. I'm Liv, by the way. Or that's what Neville called me, at least."

"You knew Neville?"

She gave him a withering look, as if to say, _Of course I did_, and he could practically hear the heavy inflection in his head. "That isn't really the point," she commented acidly.

"Dreams don't have points," Ron shot back. "They're completely useless and I don't know why I'm even bothering to have this stupid conversation with you."

"Well, hell if I know," she shot back. "One minute I'm out wandering through a daisy-filled field and the next I'm stuck in here playing your silly game. You even had me doing a sodding chant."

"And why would I do that?"

Ron could feel his face begin to heat up; no doubt his ears were bright red by now. For a moment he felt ashamed over how wound up he was allowing himself to become, but reminded himself that it was just a dream. He could do whatever he wanted.

Liv, however, surprised him. "Because you want answers," she said simply. "And I can give them to you. That's understandable enough, I suppose—you've just been asking all the wrong questions."

"There's such a thing as a 'right' question?" he snorted.

"Well, naturally. You've been asking all these questions about where we are and what we're doing—that's not what you really want to know. They're just cover-ups."

"So what do I want to know?"

"What happens after death, I suppose. And whether or not there's any point to it all. It's what everyone wants to know when they see someone die."

With a flash of horror, Ron remembered Neville—Neville, who was dead, with a sword plunged through him. Neville, who, of everyone in that room, least deserved his fate.

Neville, who had saved his life.

Still, Ron wasn't sure that was what he wanted to know. He sat in silence for a moment—the Fleur and Neville in his mind were still frozen in place—contemplating the enormous opportunity for knowledge that had just been handed to him.

"Why Neville?" he finally asked.

"Why not?" she countered. "He was there, just like everyone else. And he wasn't the only one."

Liv had paused to allow her message to sink in. Now Ron looked at her, as though seeing her for the first time. "How do you know all this?"

She grinned, her dark-rimmed eyes squinting with mirth. "Good question. An eternity of experience in billions of people's minds. Death is a funny thing: it brings out the best and the worst in people."

"What did it do to Neville?" Ron asked, remembering that this was the main purpose of the conversation.

"It gave him strength," she said quietly. "Strength and life."

In a sudden flash, he remembered Neville as he had been during the battle—confident, unflinching, and maybe even a little cheeky. "You did that to him?" he said.

"No. It was something only he could do to himself,"

Bewildered, the redhead shook his head. "I still don't get where this is coming from."

"Your grief. But for now, the why doesn't matter—understanding will come with time. It's only important, really, that you know the what. Neville is dead, but he died well. He died at peace with himself. Does that make sense to you?"

A lump seemed to be forming at the back of his throat, making words impossible to form, so he only nodded. Coming right out and saying that Neville had been killed was somehow different, more painful, than abstract discussion. She wrapped her arms around him sympathetically as tears began to sting his eyes.

"Memento mori," she whispered in his ear before everything around them dissolved.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting up in his bed in the hospital wing, asking himself what the hell had just happened. Oddly enough, though, he felt a bit better.

Not much, but it was a start.

———

Siberia. She didn't know a damn thing about it, except that it was in Russia and it was bloody cold. And that she had just agreed to spend a year there.

Now, Draco was insisting on coming along.

"Could you even find it on a map?" Ginny snapped at him. "_I _don't even want to go there, and it was my idea."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I could find it. Or I'd look it up, at least—I _am _literate, you know."

She felt mildly silly being this angry with him in the face of his unflappable arrogance. "It's where they send you for exile when they really hate you," she continued. "They kill people like you there, I'm pretty sure. They did it to the Romanovs."

"I'm better looking than the Romanovs, and even if that doesn't stop them, I'll just kill them first."

"I'm living with a tribe of werewolves; you hate werewolves."

"No, I just didn't like Lupin much. Mostly because my father told me not to, but we'll ignore that."

She glared at him mutinously. Privately, she knew that she was only afraid of him being disturbed by what he would see in her, but logically that was nonsense. If they were going to last, he'd have to see it all eventually.

"Fine," she barked after a long silence. "But you'll hate it there, so don't come crying to me."

———

Agrippa watched, amused, as Remus paced back and forth in front of her. He had been doing so for the last twenty minutes, spewing out a stream of consciousness as he did.

"What am I doing this for? I don't want to! I swear it's entirely your fault—it has to be… You talked me into this!"

She sat up a bit straighter on the edge of her bed and snorted. "Why on earth would I do a thing like that?"

"I don't know!"

"Besides, even if it is my fault—which is highly unlikely, as I wasn't even there at the time—it's just a _date_."

"Yes… Well…" he spluttered. "One thing leads to another and the next thing you know…"

"There'll be little baby werewolves running around? Given the circumstances, that's hardly likely."

"Shut up!" he shot back and resumed pacing, giving Agrippa another chance to scrutinise him. Something seemed… different.

"Hang on," she blurted. "You've done something to your hair."

He froze mid-step. "No I didn't."

"Yes," she accused, "it's straighter."

"No it's not."

"You straightened it! Wait—did you use my flat iron? I've been looking everywhere for the damn thing!"

"I most certainly didn't!"

His eyes, however, glanced down at the floor shiftily, making Agrippa smirk. "So if I went and looked in your room, I wouldn't find a thing resembling two ceramic hotplates that clamp together anywhere in the vicinity?"

He sighed heavily. "You're perfectly aware of the fact that I need a pep talk. Stop mocking me."

"I'm not bloody mocking you; I was about to say that it looked nice."

"Oh, well, then." He seemed taken aback. "You don't mind, then?"

"Of course I don't," she snapped. "Just ask next time, so I don't go hunting through the kitchen, worrying that Molly Weasley thought it was for making Paninis."

"An easy mistake for anyone to make," he replied sympathetically. "But, really, how do you think it's going to go?"

"Wonderfully," she assured him. "And it's almost seven—would you like me to see you out?"

Uncertainty scrawled itself across his face. "Could you?" he asked in a tone reminiscent of a child pleading its parent to leave the nightlight on.

She stood and led him out of the room by his arm, proceeding to march him down the stairs.

"Now, remember: no sex on the first date if you want this to work out."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "That's horribly old-fashioned of you."

"Nonsense. It's common sense. And don't worry—that rule doesn't extend to groping."

When they arrived at the entranceway, Charlie was already standing there, looking sick to his stomach. Noticing them, he straightened and did his best to remove some of the green colour from his complexion, but the effect was minimal.

"Is my mother coming?" he hissed.

"I don't think so," Agrippa replied cheerily. "But if she is, I promise to distract her with talk of curry."

The two men smiled weakly, making movements towards the door.

"Have fun, lads," she said, with the air of a woman watching her daughter marching down the altar. "And Charlie—if you break his heart, I'll make you wish that you were eaten by one of your dragons."

She had been about to add more, but was prevented from doing so by Remus slamming the door in her face. Smirking, she turned to head into the drawing room, only to find herself face-to-face with Molly Weasley.

"What," the red-haired woman asked, making a visible effort to keep her tone measured, "exactly was that about?"

Agrippa stared her dead in the eye. "If you want to know so badly, then maybe it's something you're happier not asking."

———

It was a rainy night, the kind when the wind twisted her hair into damp ribbons and filled her lungs, making her feel capable of breathing again. Hermione stood at the top of the astronomy tower, practically hanging out of a window as she attempted to catch sight of the lake.

It was in moments like these that she longed to fly.

They had returned to Hogwarts earlier that day after spending another night in London and, since then, she had felt conflicted. Surely she was too old for this now?

But, once again, she seemed to be expected to be able to slide back into the role of the diligent pupil with minimal effort, as though the confrontation with Voldemort had never happened, as though she hadn't experienced the horrifying moment of watching her mother powerless.

As though she hadn't admitted, at long last, to love.

She and Severus had had a long talk on the train ride, during which they had sorted out all the things that needed sorting. He _had _been hiding feelings of betrayal that she seemed to be choosing his mother over him; she had been secretly afraid that he was worrying over this. She had been terrified that his words in the hotel room had merely been said in the heat of the moment, but he assured her that nothing had been truer.

And, suddenly, it seemed as though she would be letting him go before she had got a proper hold on him.

Tears filled her eyes and she felt them mingling with the rain that was driving against her face. She wasn't going to stay—in some deep, half-hidden part of her, she knew that—but, just then, the thought of leaving sent stabbings of pain through her lower abdomen. She groaned, trying not to sob, and straightened. There were still classes to study for, Severus was still down in the dungeons waiting for her, and she had a vague memory of promising Helena that she would manage to become an Animagus by the end of term. Someday, she might be able to examine the inner workings of her mind, but she had a feeling that it wouldn't be for a while.

Slowly, as though reluctant to leave, she closed the window and began the descent down the winding staircase, leaving a piece of her hovering above, flying around the towers of Hogwarts.

———

The evening, Remus would later reflect, had been hardly less than perfect. In spite of a somewhat rocky start—he had been so nervous that he had repeatedly dropped dining utensils on the floor—things had soon smoothed themselves over. By the time they made it to dessert, both of them were chatting easily. Remus found himself more than grateful that Agrippa had recommended a Muggle restaurant—he didn't think that he could have handled knowing half the people in the room.

"So if my mother is the root of all my emotional problems, what's your excuse?" Charlie teased.

"Werewolf, societal outcast… Just to name a few."

"That hardly counts compared to being raised by Molly Weasley," Charlie snorted.

"Yes, well, anything would pale in comparison."

"I'm glad you can see my perspective."

"It's one of my many good qualities." Remus smirked. "But, out of curiosity, what would she say about… y'know, this?" He gestured at the two of them as he spoke.

Charlie's lips tightened. "Don't even want to consider it."

"That's what I thought."

"But let's not talk about that," the redhead continued. "She's not here, so I don't want to think about it."

After splitting the bill, they wandered out into the London streets, standing close together without touching. They walked in silence for a while, giving Remus a moment to assess the situation. He ran a hand through his hair, marvelling at the softness that had been created by Agrippa's flat iron, and wondered, not for the first time that evening, _how _this had managed to happen to him. Although he was perfectly aware that one date was hardly a basis for a lasting relationship, he was beginning to feel that he might have a chance at happiness. The thought emboldened him, leading him to reach out and twine his fingers around Charlie's, almost unthinkingly.

———

The moment he stepped in the door, Charlie felt ill. Molly Weasley was standing in the hallway, blocking it as though she had simply been waiting for the two of them arrive. He had a nasty feeling that that had been the case. A quick glance at Remus told him that the other man was currently weighing the pros and cons of bolting back out into the street.

"And where, exactly, have you been?" she asked, primarily directing the question at her son.

"Out," he said tersely, knowing full well that his response was only likely to infuriate her more and finding he didn't care.

"Really?"

Charlie was receiving a vibe that told him if she were holding a bat at this point in time, his head would be taking on the roll of a bludger. "Yes, really. What sort of answer were you expecting?"

"Certainly one that was more descriptive."

"So sorry to disappoint."

His entire body had tensed to the point where he was afraid a tendon was going to snap. He had never felt so incensed in his entire life, especially not at his mother. Throughout his life, there had been moments when he found himself convinced that his mother lived to manipulate her children into carbon copies of an ideal, but none of them compared to this in the slightest.

They stared each other down for a moment as Molly grew redder, neither of them able to find the appropriate words to voice their fury. It was she who finally broke.

"Charles Weasley—how can you do this to me?" she exploded. "It was bad enough when it was just _him _and that other one carrying on in the house, doing who-knows-what at every hour of the day, but my own son? How can you do this to me? You can't expect me to put up with this nonsense because, as a matter of fact, I refuse to. It's _wrong_, and it's _disgusting, _and it's shameful—I won't have it under my roof, especially not from _you_." She paused to take a breath before rounding on Remus. "And _you_. You should know better than to lead him along in your little games. I was willing to ignore it when it was just you and Sirius Black, but not when you're using my son for your own ends. _This ends here. _Am I understood?"

Charlie was about to shoot as many harsh words back at her, but Remus's hand on his shoulder held him back. The other man stepped forward slightly, face impassive. Looking at Charlie, he said quietly, "Something that ignorant doesn't deserve to be dignified by a response." Then, staring Molly dead in the eye, he continued, "Maybe next time, before you go on one of your tirades, you should consider asking your son what he wants and finding out who he is."

Charlie doubted that he would have been able to speak now, even if he had wanted to. His mother, too, appeared dumbfounded, judging by the way her mouth was flapping open and closed, fish-like. Remus simply walked past her, Charlie following close behind.

Halfway up the stairs, he turned and said, "Oh, by the way, Mum, I've taken the job in Ireland. It starts in February," before continuing upwards, leaving his mother conflicted between the warring emotions of horror and joy.

———

Along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the wind was more biting than she had anticipated. Hermione pulled her cloak more tightly around her and waited for Ginny, who seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

"We couldn't have done your rehabilitation walk _inside?_" she half-teased, teeth chattering.

"I needed air," Ginny responded. "Besides, there's something I need your opinion on and I didn't want to discuss it in there."

"Well, hurry up because I'm bloody cold."

The redhead sat down on the side of the hill, casting a charm to repel the large, wet flakes of snow that were hitting them. Hermione followed suit and for a moment they remained in silence, listening to the wind howl past them.

"What would you say," Ginny began slowly, as though tasting each word before releasing it, "if I told you about an awful thing that I did?"

"How awful?" Hermione tried to push away the gnawing feeling that stabbed at her gut as all of her fears regarding Ginny's behaviour in the past few months came rushing back.

"It was after the attack on Snape… When I was still furious with Draco, right when we put Harry under the Imperius. I was… I was out of control, I guess, and I made him…"

Ginny broke off, but the unspoken words formed into a bullet that plunged into Hermione's lower abdomen in spite of it. It tore her in two—half of her was screaming in horror, while the other half was desperately trying to remind her that this was Genevra Weasley, whom she had known for the past six years.

"I… I don't know what to say."

"I thought it was the wolf part of me acting out," Ginny continued in a rush, "but I think that's just an excuse I've given myself. I _knew _what I was doing and I've gone to Dumbledore, but he didn't seem to care much. His solution is to send me to some wolf tribe thing in Siberia for a year—I think he was too busy trying to plan a celebration based around sherbet lemons at the time to bother putting thought into it."

Hermione smiled weakly, not sure that her voice would work properly if she tried to speak. "When… H-how many times?" she croaked, not sure she wanted to know.

"Just the once," came the reply that she had been hoping for. "I felt so sick looking at him after that… I started just sending him to the library."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Have you talked to him? Does he remember it?"

"He must—he's been avoiding me."

She inhaled deeply, hating Ginny in that moment for putting her in the position of judge, jury, and executioner. She wasn't the moral authority; she wasn't even sure what wizarding law said about this sort of thing. Not to mention that if this were to be brought to the attention of the Ministry, they'd likely care more about the use of the Imperius Curse than the violation of Harry's rights and, deep within her, she knew that it had been the only answer in that situation. Licking her lips, she began to speak.

"Then what I think you should do is go and talk to him. Find out what _he _thinks that you should do; it's his opinion that really matters here. Apologise, let him press charges if he wants, whatever. He already knows _why _we used Imperius, so I doubt that he's upset about that.

"And, then, I think you should walk away. You'll no doubt see him again, but try to avoid it unless he seeks you out. I think that, in this situation, you've given up your right to defend yourself unless it's revenge he's after."

Ginny blanched visibly at the harsh tone that Hermione's voice had taken on. "Are you angry with me?"

"No. I'm being honest. We've no proof that I wouldn't have done something very similar in that situation. It doesn't mean that I don't hold you at fault for it, but power _does _corrupt and that's not a concept that's beyond me."

———

Remus awoke the next morning to a pounding somewhere in the vicinity. At first, he thought that it was only the after-effects of the night before, but he quickly came to realise that it was, in fact, a knocking on his bedroom door. The second shock of the morning came about five seconds later when, after half-leaping out of bed, he noticed that he was stuck.

Stuck because his legs were tangled in someone else's legs. A red-haired someone else's to be precise.

Given that he was sharing a house with the Weasley family, he had been bound to wind up in this predicament eventually.

His hand was on the door, about to turn the knob, when it struck him that he was stark naked. As the pounding continued, he fumbled around for a robe, which he promptly yanked over his head. Swinging the door open, putting an end to the banging at long last, he found himself face-to-face with Arthur Weasley.

"Charlie, what is this that your mother…" He had been about to start on a tirade, but his voice, which had begun at a volume almost worthy of his wife, dwindled away as he realised that he was, in fact, speaking to the object of the planned rant.

With a strange, detached sense of horror, Remus observed that the room he was standing in wasn't his at all. Mustering up all the composure that could be had this soon after waking up, he said pleasantly, "Good morning, Arthur."

Turning beet red, the other man replied, "Morning, Remus."

At a loss for things to say, he opted for the traditional, "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Quite. Listen, this business that my wife told me about with you and my son…"

"It's true," Remus cut in, feeling his congenial attitude beginning to wane.

"Ah. I see…"

"Excellent. I suppose that I'll see you at breakfast, then?"

He didn't wait for Arthur's reply before shutting the door in his face and crawling back into bed.

"What was all that about?" Charlie mumbled. "And you've gone and made the bed go all cold."

"I expect you'll find out soon enough and I'm sorry."

"It was Dad, wasn't it?"

"Yes, now go back to sleep."

Hoisting himself into a half-sitting position, Charlie let a grin spread across his face. "Well, now I'm not sure that I want to."

———

Ron flipped the chessboard around so he could play from the side of the white pieces as Hermione looked on, bemused, from her seat across the table. She hadn't been in the Gryffindor common room for ages, especially not when it was this empty.

"Why are you playing against yourself?"

He shrugged. "I got sick of always winning."

"Braggart," she teased.

"It's not like there's anyone to play with, anyway," he said defensively.

She laughed at him, setting closing her book on her lap. "I know. Although I must say that your pieces are much quieter than they used to be."

"I cast a silencing charm." He looked as though he was about to make another move, and then paused. "Hermione, do you know what Ginny's dragged Harry off to talk about?"

Her face froze momentarily before she regained control of it. "I think they just need to work through some things," she replied calmly.

"Oh," he said. "Okay."

He frowned, returning his attention to the game. The white knight captured the black bishop before it, in turn, was taken by the queen. Hermione watched as he silently directed pieces, captivated by the complicated dance that they seemed to be following. When it ended as the black king was trapped in a corner, he finally seemed to regain a sense of his surroundings and looked up at her.

"I wonder if whoever invented chess ever saw a real battle," he commented quietly.

"It seems likely," she said, taken aback by the emptiness that had filled his eyes.

"But do you think that he saw people as expendable pieces?" he asked. "Killing one off so that another one can live?"

"I have no idea, Ron."

It struck her that she wasn't the only one who had been left dealing with some sort of emotional turmoil in the wake of the battle. Maybe it was crass of her, but she hadn't expected it of him at all. Harry, certainly, Ginny, herself, even Severus, but not Ron. He was the only one who never seemed to change.

"I was right there, 'Mione," he said, grief overwhelming his features. "It could have been me. It could have been both of us… On some level, I know that it doesn't really matter who it was, but I keep thinking that of all the people it had to happen to…"

Something twisted horribly in her chest and she closed her eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to spill over. "I know."

"And then there's Percy," he said, face contorting with the effort to keep from crying. "Do you know what 'Memento mori' means?"

"Remember you will die," she half-whispered.

"I can't bloody forget," he snapped. "I don't even feel like I survived that. I wish that I didn't have to think about it, but everywhere I go it's like there's someone whispering in my ear. Sometimes I think that it would have been easier to just die with Neville."

"Of course it would have been easy," she replied. "Nothing about living is ever as simple."

"I know."

They sat in contemplative silence as Hermione studied him, trying to find the words she was looking for. "Memento mori," she finally began. "Where did you hear that?"

"A dream," he said. "Some girl told it to me. I think she meant it to be comforting."

"Did it work? I mean, did it make you feel at all better?"

"For a while, yeah. It made it seem like death was okay, like it's the end that matters, not how you got there. Or maybe it's the getting there that's important. I'm not sure."

"I think it's the getting there," she commented. "Otherwise, what would be the point?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and Hermione suddenly saw him as being much older than he looked. Noticing her stare, he shifted uncomfortably.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, wondering for the first time when, precisely, their friendship had lapsed into awkward silences.

_We're too old, _she thought. _We've seen too much to ever go back to what we were._

"You know," Ron said, "I think this is the first time we've really talked for ages."

"I think it is," she agreed. "But did we ever really talk?"

Both of them considered this, arriving at the same conclusion.

"No," he replied.

"It was always Harry…"

Just as Hermione spoke his name, he and Ginny broke into the common room, arguing loudly.

"Stop arguing with me!" he roared. "Do you honestly think that, given the same circumstances, you would have been any better off than I was? I know myself a hell of a lot better than you do, Ginny, and you can believe me when I tell you that anything I could have possibly done to you would be worse than _that_. That you're sorry only makes it worse."

"Yes, but you didn't and I did. What you could have done doesn't matter when you compare it to what I _did_."

"You don't know that," he hissed, suddenly noticing Hermione and Ron staring. "_What_?" he snarled at them, sprinting up to the dormitories before they could react.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to keep her face impassive—the last thing she needed was Ron asking her if she knew anything.

He opted for the more direct and therefore less subtle approach of asking Ginny instead, who was frozen in place, staring after Harry. "What was that about?"

"Nothing," she snarled, turning and stalking out of the room.

———

Severus watched another class file out of the room with a sigh. The more he examined it, the more he became aware that his teaching career was nearing its end. Hermione had discussed it with him at length, and she agreed that the time had come for him to move on. Unfortunately, before he could do that he needed money and he needed a business plan.

If he wanted to use a loan, the business plan would have to come first.

He arranged the stack of essays neatly on the corner of his desk and had just stood to leave, when the door opened and Helena walked in.

"Mother," he greeted her. For the first time in years, she didn't correct him.

"Sit down. We need to talk."

"But we don't talk," he responded, sinking back down in confusion. "It just isn't in the relationship description."

"We need to talk about this girl of yours."

"Hermione?"

"No, one of the other dozens of women that you have been involved with. _Yes_, Hermione," Agrippa snapped, leaning against a desk.

He groaned. "What has she done now?"

"Nothing. I'm just curious—does she truly want to leave?"

Severus squinted at her in disbelief. "She hasn't said otherwise to me."

Helena visibly breathed a sigh of relief. "Excellent."

"Why? Why did you think that she would have?"

"The girl's heartsick. I've spoken to her twice in the last few days and each time she seemed reluctant to see me. I was wondering if she was reconsidering the matter; so much has changed in the past few months."

He shook his head. "She's hardly the type to change her mind for a bit of romance and I'm hardly one to disagree with that. We've been over this before."

"You wish you were, don't you?" Helena asked directly, and he found himself hating the calmness that was being directed at him, the total understanding he found in her eyes. This wasn't the mother that had raised him, he suddenly realised. That quiet, subordinate creature had died years ago, in a tiny, run-down house as she stared down at the body of a man who had terrorised them both.

"No," he replied, surprising them both.

"You don't want her to stay?"

"What sort of question is that? Mother—_Helena_, of course I do. Just not that much. Not enough to compromise what she wants."

To his bewilderment, she smiled at him tiredly. "I'll give you both a week after term ends. I wanted to leave immediately, but I think I owe you that, at least."

As she left the room, it occurred to him that the conversation he had just had could, at best, be described as perplexing.

———

Winter faded into spring, but Hermione almost failed to notice. There was too much to do, too many things to cram into too few days, that she woke up every morning with the panic of knowing there was one day fewer to accomplish it in. NEWTs were the last of her worries when Helena was hounding her about learning to become an animagus constantly and her mother was sending daily messages about whether she ought to bring cases of water bottles just in case the water was contaminated. Spare moments were spent in Severus' quarters—he was talking about resigning his post at Hogwarts either this year or the next and she was trying to help him with his plan to open a business of some sort.

Before she so much as had time to draw breath, summer was practically in full force and the time was rapidly approaching to leave. She and Agrippa had both said their goodbyes the week before, tearfully hugging at Heathrow as she boarded the plane that would take her first to Cairo, then to Kigali; the house was being rented to Remus for the year at a rate that everyone knew was well below the average. Harry and Ron had both muttered gruff farewells and offered hugs, Ginny had cried a bit, and even Draco had bothered to track her down before term ended and ask whether she thought his wardrobe would survive Siberia. Now, the only person left was Severus, who had left her with the instruction not to plan anything for the week before she and Helena had agreed to leave and been remarkably silent on the subject ever since.

She had her suspicions, but, for the most part, kept them to herself. She wasn't about to discourage him.

———

Remus flopped down onto the couch, setting his feet on the coffee table and opening his book to the page he had left off on. After several days of creeping round the house, afraid to touch anything and sleeping in the guest bedroom, he was gradually beginning to take over pockets of the house. He had started with the living room—that was an easy enough. Then, last night, he had grown even more daring by moving his clothing into Agrippa's room and was now working on the kitchen. In about a month, the entire house would be his to roam through freely. The only thing that he didn't have qualms about using was Agrippa's flat iron, which she had left for him on her dresser, with a note telling him not to bury the bloody house down with it.

He had just begun to settle into the book when there was a knock on the door. With a sigh, he stood and went to answer it, only mildly surprised to see Charlie Weasley on the other side.

"Hullo, darling," the redhead announced cheerfully. "I've brought dinner. I know how terrified you are about using Agrippa's kitchen."

"Oh, shut up," Remus replied, holding open the door with a grin. "As if you wouldn't feel strange living in another person's house without them there. And what kind of food is it?"

"Good food. But before we discuss that any further, I have a somewhat pressing matter to attend to."

Remus was about to ask what, exactly this matter was, but the words only made it halfway out of his mouth before they were being shoved back down by a probing tongue, whose owner was pushing him against the wall. Naturally, Remus responded by barrelling them in the other direction until they slammed into the wall on the other side of the entrance, nearly knocking a picture frame off of it.

Charlie pulled back only long enough to say, "D'you think you can get past your fear of someone else's bedroom?" before darting up the stairs with Remus chasing after him.

———

As they wandered down the path to the cove, Hermione turned to Severus and squinted up at him, trying to smooth her face into a mask of austerity.

"You didn't have to do this, you know. A cottage in Cornwall, especially at this time of year, can't be cheap. Not unless you were using blackmail."

He raised his eyebrows at her, smirking faintly. "I didn't pay a cent for it."

"Oh, lovely, you're cheap then?"

He snorted lightly. "Of course I am."

"As long as you're up front about it, I'm sure I'll survive."

"In all honesty, it's Malfoy property. I talked Draco into—"

"Ha!" Hermione cut in. "Threatened him, I'll bet."

"—lending it to me for the week," he finished. "And I most certainly didn't threaten him, although I hinted that his Potions mark depended rather heavily on his answer."

"I thought he'd been disowned," Hermione said, furrowing her brow. "Or did his mother…"

"Yes."

"Ah," she responded. "I'm glad. I don't know how he managed to, you know…"

The sentence refused to finish itself, preferring to trail off into awkward silence. _Kill his father_, echoed in Hermione's mind, but she couldn't bring herself to speak the words.

"Do what he thought necessary?" Severus offered, sighing. "It's a Slytherin trait—one that I would have thought you had picked up by now."

"I'm working on it, don't worry. If all else fails, I'm spending the next year with your mother; she's bound to rub off on me."

He chuckled. "She will, indeed, be good for you."

"She can fill in all those gaps in my education that you left."

His expression became offended, but there was a mocking gleam in his eyes. "Surely I wasn't so horrible a teacher."

"I would never suggest such a thing."

He smirked, pulling her closer and making her breath catch. "I should hope you wouldn't."

Tracing a hand down his chest with a faint smile, she added, "In fact, there are some areas in which I'm tempted to say your methods were positively stimulating."

"I'm glad to hear it," he replied, pressing his lips against the base of her neck.

She let herself sink into him gratefully, feeling for the first time in months that her guard was allowed to slip. There was no one present to defend their relationship to, her life was no longer an endless string of memorial services and celebrations, and she had no good reason to think about the future. Yet. In a week's time, she would have to deal with the reality of leaving Severus behind, but right now there was the ocean pounding the rocky beach and a cottage where they could finally be completely alone.

Deep inside her chest, she felt something swell almost to the point of bursting and she threw her arms around him in a sudden burst of affection.

"You know I'll miss you, right?" she asked.

He blinked at her, startled.

"I mean, have I made that clear?"

She waited for his response, but he only nodded, drawing her attention to a strange glittering in his eyes. "Perfectly," he replied hoarsely, after a moment of trying to compose himself. "And I feel perfectly confident in saying that the feeling will be reciprocated."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to eradicate all traces of the future from her mind. Neither of them wanted it just then, not when there were empty beaches and sunsets and sheets to be tangled in. It might be the last chance the would have to pretend there was no world outside of their self-imposed isolation, and she wasn't about to watch it slip through her fingers before she could hand it to him.

In that moment, she could feel something inside her chest swelling and bursting. If she had been feeling rational, she might have assumed her lung had punctured, but she wasn't. Instead, she let herself believe that it was her heart expanding outwards and engulfing the man whose arms were wrapped around her.

And, there was absolutely no proof to the contrary.


End file.
